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UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT    LOS  ANGELES 


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dhtgltsl)  Max  of  Cctters 

EDITED  BY  JOHN  MORLEY 


7    3   9 


0ol6smitb 


by 
WILLIAM    BLACK 

AUTHOR  OF 

'A    PRINCESS    OF    THULE "    "A    DAUGHTER    OF    HETH " 
"MACLEOD    OF    DARE"    ETC. 


Bnglisb  /iDen  of  Xetters 

EDITED  BY 

JOHN    MORLEY 


»    ^  ->  1     *       I     » 


HARPER  &   BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 

1902 


5728 


'    •     ... 


.       ' 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGR 

INTRODUCTORY 1 


CHAPTER    II. 
SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE     ....  6 

CHAPTER  III. 

IDLENESS,  AND  FOREIGN  TRAVEL 13 

CHAPTER  IV. 

EARLY  STRUGGLES. — HACK-WRITING 20 

CHAPTER  V. 

BEGINNING  OF  AUTHORSHIP. — THE  BEE 30 


vi  CONTENTS. 

CHATTER  VI. 

rA(5B 

PERSONAL  TRAITS 40 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CITIZEN  OF  TILE  WORLD. — BEAU  NASH 46 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  ARREST        .....«,      t      <  62 

CHAPTER  IX. 

THE  TRAVELLER 70 

CHAPTER  X. 

MISCELLANEOUS  WRITING 76 

CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD 81 

CHAPTER  XII. 

THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN 94 

CHAPTER  XTII. 

GOLDSMITH  IN  SOCIETY  ..,....,.,..      103 


CONTENTS.  vii 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

PAGK 

V       THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE U3 

CHAPTER  XV. 

OCCASIONAL  WRITINGS 126 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

INCREASING  DIFFICULTIES. — THE  END 142 


GOLDSMITH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY. 

44  Innocently  to  amuse  the  imagination  in  this  dream 
of  life  is  wisdom."  So  wrote  Oliver  Goldsmith  ;  and 
surely  among  those  who  have  earned  the  world's  gratitude 
by  this  ministration  he  must  be  accorded  a  conspicuous 
place.  If,  in  these  delightful  writings  of  his,  he  mostly 
avoids  the  darker  problems  of  existence — if  the  mystery 
of  the  tragic  and  apparently  unmerited  and  unrequited 
suffering  in  the  world  is  rarely  touched  upon — we  can  par- 
don the  omission  for  the  sake  of  the  gentle  optimism  that 
would  rather  look  on  the  kindly  side  of  life.  "  You 
come  hot  and  tired  from  the  day's  battle,  and  this  sweet 
minstrel  sings  to  you,"  says  Mr.  Thackeray.  "  Who 
could  harm  the  kind  vagrant  harper  ?  Whom  did  he  ever 
hurt  ?  He  carries  no  weapon  save  the  harp  on  which  he 
plays  to  you  ;  and  with  which  he  delights  great  and  hum- 
ble, young  and  old,  the  captains  in  the  tents,  or  the  sol- 
diers round  the  fire,  or  the  women  and  children  in  the 
villages,  at  whose  porches  he  stops  and  sings  his  simple 
songs  of  love  and  beauty. ' '  And  it  is  to  be  suspected 
1* 


2  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

— it  is  to  be  hoped,  at  least — that  the  cheerfulness  which 
shines  like  sunlight  through  Goldsmith's  writings,  did  not 
altogether  desert  himself  even  in  the  most  trying  hours  of 
his  wayward  and  troubled  career.  He  had,  with  all  his 
sensitiveness,  a  fine  happy-go-lucky  disposition  ;  was 
ready  for  a  frolic  when  he  had  a  guinea,  and,  when  he  had 
none,  could  turn  a  sentence  on  the  humorous  side  of  star- 
vation ;  and  certainly  never  attributed  to  the  injustice  or 
neglect  of  society  misfortunes  the  origin  of  which  lay 
nearer  home. 

Of  course,  a  very  dark  picture  might  be  drawn  of  Gold- 
smith's life  ;  and  the  sufferings  that  he  undoubtedly  en- 
dured have  been  made  a  whip  with  which  to  lash  the  in- 
gratitude of  a  world  not  too  quick  to  recognize  the  claims 
of  genius.  He  has  been  put  before  us,  without  any 
brighter  lights  to  the  picture,  as  the  most  unfortunate  of 
poor  devils  ;  the  heart-broken  usher  ;  the  hack  ground 
down  by  sordid  booksellers  ;  the  starving  occupant  of 
successive  garrets.  This  is  the  aspect  of  Goldsmith's 
career  which  naturally  attracts  Mr.  Forster.  Mr.  Forster 
seems  to  have  been  haunted  throughout  his  life  by  the 
idea  that  Providence  had  some  especial  spite  against  liter- 
ary persons  ;  and  that,  in  a  measure  to  compensate  them 
for  their  sad  lot,  society  should  be  very  kind  to  them, 
while  the  Government  of  the  day  might  make  them  Com- 
panions of  the  Bath  or  give  them  posts  in  the  Civil  Ser- 
vice. In  the  otherwise  copious,  thorough,  and  valuable 
Life  and  Times  of  Oliver  Goldsmith,  we  find  an  almost 
humiliating  insistance  on  the  complaint  that  Oliver  Gold- 
smith did  not  receive  greater  recognition  and  larger  sums 
of  money  from  his  contemporaries.  Goldsmith  is  here 
"the  poor  neglected  sizar;"  his  "marked  ill-fortune" 
attends  him  constantly  ;  he  shares  "  the  evil  destinies  of 


i.J  INTRODUCTION.  3 

men  of  letters  ;"  he  was  one  of  those  who  "  struggled 
into  fame  without  the  aid  of  English  institutions  ;"  in 
short,  "he  wrote,  and  paid  the  penalty."  Nay,  even 
Christianity  itself  is  impeached  on  account  of  the  perse- 
cution suffered  by  poor  Goldsmith.  "  There  had  been  a 
Christian  religion  extant  for  seventeen  hundred  and  fifty- 
seven  years,"  writes  Mr.  Forster,  "  the  world  having 
been  acquainted,  for  even  so  long,  with  its  spiritual  neces- 
sities and  responsibilities  ;  yet  here,  in  the  middle  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  was  the  eminence  ordinarily  conceded 
to  a  spiritual  teacher,  to  one  of  those  men  who  come 
upon  the  earth  to  lift  their  fellow-men  above  its  miry 
ways.  He  is  up  in  a  garret,  writing  for  bread  he  cannot 
get,  and  dunned  for  a  milk-score  he  cannot  pay. ' '  That 
Christianity  might  have  been  worse  employed  than  in 
paying  the  milkman's  score  is  true  enough,  for  then  the 
milkman  would  have  come  by  his  own  ;  but  that  Chris- 
tianity, or  the  state,  or  society  should  be  scolded  because 
an  author  suffers  the  natural  consequences  of  his  allowing 
his  expenditure  to  exceed  his  income,  seems  a  little  hard. 
And  this  is  a  sort  of  writing  that  is  peculiarly  inappropri- 
ate in  the  case  of  Goldsmith,  who,  if  ever  any  man  was 
author  of  his  own  misfortunes,  may  fairly  have  the  charge 
brought  against  him.  "  Men  of  genius,"  says  Mr.  Fors- 
ter, "  can  more  easily  starve,  than  the  world,  with  safety 
to  itself,  can  continue  to  neglect  and  starve  them."  Per- 
haps so  ;  but  the  English  nation,  which  has  always  had 
a  regard  and  even  love  for  Oliver  Goldsmith,  that  is  quite 
peculiar  in  the  history  of  literature,  and  which  has  been 
glad  to  overlook  his  faults  and  follies,  and  eager  to  sym- 
pathize with  him  in  the  many  miseries  of  his  career,  will 
be  slow  to  believe  that  it  is  responsible  for  any  starvation 
that  Goldsmith  may  have  endured. 


4  GOLDSMITH.  [chap 

However,  the  key-note  has  been  firmly  struck,  and  it 
still  vibrates.  Goldsmith  was  the  unluekicst  of  mortals, 
the  hapless  victim  of  circumstances.  "  Yielding  to  that 
united  pressure  of  labor,  penury,  and  sorrow, with  a  frame 
exhausted  by  unremitting  and  ill-rewarded  drudgery, 
Goldsmith  was  indebted  to  the  forbearance  of  creditors 
for  a  peaceful  burial."  But  what,  now,  if  some  for- 
eigner strange  to  the  traditions  of  English  literature — 
some  Japanese  student,  for  example,  or  the  New  Zea- 
lander  come  before  his  time — were  to  go  over  the  ascer- 
tained facts  of  Goldsmith's  life,  and  were  suddenly  to 
announce  to  us,  with  the  happy  audacity  of  ignorance, 
that  he,  Goldsmith,  was  a  quite  exceptionally  fortunate 
person  ?  "  Why,"  he  might  say,  "  I  find  that  in  a 
country  where  the  vast  majority  of  people  are  born  to 
labor,  Oliver  Goldsmith  was  never  asked  to  do  a  stroke 
of  work  towards  the  earning  of  his  own  living  until  he 
had  arrived  at  man's  estate.  All  that  was  expected  of 
him,  as  a  youth  and  as  a  young  man,  was  that  he  should 
equip  himself  fully  for  the  battle  of  life.  He  was  main- 
tained at  college  until  he  had  taken  his  degree.  Again 
and  again  he  was  furnished  with  funds  for  further  study 
and  foreign  travel ;  and  again  and  again  he  gambled  his 
opportunities  away.  The  constant  kindness  of  his  uncle 
only  made  him  the  best  begging-letter-writer  the  world 
has  seen.  In  the  midst  of  his  debt  and  distress  as  a 
bookseller's  drudge,  he  receives  £400  for  three  nights' 
performance  of  the  The  Good-Natured  Man ;  he  imme- 
diately purchases  chambers  in  Brick  Court  for  £400  ; 
and  forthwith  begins  to  borrow  as  before.  It  is  true 
that  he  died  owing  £2000,  and  was  indebted  to  the  for- 
bearance of  creditors  for  a  peaceful  burial  ;  but  it  ap- 
pears that  during  the  last  seven  years  of  his  life  he  had 


I.]  INTRODUCTION.  5 

been  earning  an  annual  income  equivalent  to  £800  of 
English  currency.1  He  was  a  man  liberally  and  affection- 
ately brought  up,  who  had  many  relatives  and  many 
friends,  and  who  had  the  proud  satisfaction — which  has 
been  denied  to  many  men  of  genius — of  knowing  for 
years  before  he  died  that  his  merits  as  a  writer  had  been 
recognized  by  the  great  bulk  of  bis  countrymen.  And 
yet  this  strange  English  nation  is  inclined  to  suspect  that 
it  treated  him  rather  badly  ;  and  Christianity  is  attacked 
because  it  did  not  pay  Goldsmith's  milk-score." 

Our  Japanese  frieud  may  be  exaggerating  ;  but  his 
position  is,  after  all,  fairly  tenable.  It  may  at  least  be 
looked  at,  before  entering  on  the  following  brief  resume 
of  the  leading  facts  in  Goldsmith's  life,  if  only  to  restore 
our  equanimity.  For,  naturally,  it  is  not  pleasant  to 
think  that  any  previous  generation,  however  neglectful 
of  the  claims  of  literary  persons  (as  compared  with  the 
claims  of  such  wretched  creatures  as  physicians,  men  of 
science,  artists,  engineers,  and  so  forth)  should  so 
cruelly  have  ill-treated  one  whom  we  all  love  now.  This 
inheritance  of  ingratitude  is  more  than  we  can  bear.  Is 
it  true  that  Goldsmith  was  so  harshly  dealt  with  by  those 
barbarian  ancestors  of  ours  ? 

1  The  calculation  is  Lord  Macaulay's  :  see  his  Biographical 
Essays. 


CHAPTER  II. 

SCHOOL    AND    COLLEGE. 

The  Goldsmiths  were  of  English  descent ;  Goldsmith's 
father  was  a  Protestant  clergyman-  in  a  poor  little  village 
in  the  county  of  Longford  ;  and  when  Oliver,  one  of 
several  children,  was  born  in  this  village  of  Pallas,  or 
Pallasmore,  on  the  10th  November,  1728,  the  Rev. 
Charles  Goldsmith  was  passing  rich  on  £40  a  year.  But 
a  couple  of  years  later  Mr.  Goldsmith  succeeded  to  a 
more  lucrative  living  ;  and  forthwith  removed  his  family 
to  the  village  of  Lissoy,  in  the  county  of  Westmeath. 

Here  at  once  our  interest  in  the  story  begins  :  is  this 
Lissoy  the  sweet  Auburn  that  we  have  known  and  loved 
since  our  childhood  ?  Lord  Macaulay,  with  a  great  deal 
of  vehemence,  avers  that  it  is  not  ;  that  there  never  was 
any  such  hamlet  as  Auburn  in  Ireland  ;  that  The  De- 
serted Village  is  a  hopelessly  incongruous  poem  ;  and 
that  Goldsmith,  in  combining  a  description  of  a  probably 
Kentish  village  with  a  description  of  an  Irish  ejectment, 
"  has  produced  something  which  never  was,  and  never 
will  be,  seen  in  any  part  of  the  world."  This  criticism 
is  ingenious  and  plausible,  but  it  is  unsound,  for  it  hap- 
pens to  overlook  one  of  the  radical  facts  of  human  nature 
— the  magnifying  delight  of  the  mind  in  what  is  long 
remembered  and  remote.     What  was  it  that  the  imagina- 


n.]  SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE.  7 

tion  of  Goldsmith,  in  his  life-long  banishment,  could  not 
see  when  lie  looked  back  to  the  home  of  his  childhood, 
and  his  early  friends,  and  the  sports  and  occupations  of 
his  youth  ?  Lissoy  was  no  doubt  a  poor  enough  Irish  vil- 
lage ;  and  perhaps  the  farms  were  not  too  well  culti- 
vated ;  and  perhaps  the  village  preacher,  who  was  so  dear 
to  all  the  country  round,  had  to  administer  many  a 
thrashing  to  a  certain  graceless  son  of  his  ;  and  perhaps 
Paddy  Byrne  was  something  of  a  pedant ;  and  no  doubt 
pigs  ran  over  the  "  nicely  sanded  floor"  of  the  inn  ;  and 
no  doubt  the  village  statesmen  occasionally  indulged  in  a 
free  fight.  But  do  you  think  that  was  the  Lissoy  that 
Goldsmith  thought  of  in  his  dreary  lodgings  in  Fleet- 
street  courts  ?  No.  It  was  the  Lissoy  where  the 
vagrant  lad  had  first  seen  the  "  primrose  peep  beneath 
the  thorn  ;"  where  he  had  listened  to  the  mysterious  call 
of  the  bittern  by  the  unfrequented  river  ;  it  was  a  Lissoy 
still  ringing  with  the  glad  laughter  of  young  people  in  the 
twilight  hours  ;  it  was  a  Lissoy  forever  beautiful,  and 
tender,  and  far  away.  The  grown-up  Goldsmith  had  not 
to  go  to  any  Kentish  village  for  a  model  ;  the  familiar 
scenes  of  his  youth,  regarded  with  all  the  wistfulness  and 
longing  of  an  exile,  became  glorified  enough.  "  If  I  go 
to  the  opera  where  Signora  Coloraba  pours  out  all  the 
mazes  of  melody,"  he  writes  to  Mr.  Hodson,  "  I  sit  and 
sigh  for  Lissoy's  fireside,  and  Johnny  Armstrong's  Last 
Good  Night  from  Peggy  Golden." 

There  was  but  little  jn  the  circumstances  of  Gold- 
smith's early  life  likely  to  fit  him  for,  or  to  lead  him 
into,  a  literary  career  ;  in  fact,  he  did  not  take  to  litera- 
ture until  he  had  tried  pretty  nearly  every  thing  else  as  a 
method  of  earning  a  living.  If  he  was  intended  for  any 
thing:,   it  was  no  doubt  his  father's  wish  that  he  should 


8  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

enter  the  Church  ;  and  lie  got  such  education  as  the  poor 
Irish  clergyman — who  was  not  a  very  provident  person — 
could  afford.  The  child  Goldsmith  was  first  of  all  taught 
his  alphabet  at  home,  by  a  maid-servant,  who  was  also  a 
relation  of  the  family  ;  then,  at  the  age  of  six,  he  was 
sent  to  that  village  school  which,  with  its  profound  and 
learned  master,  he  has  made  familiar  to  all  of  us  ;  and 
after  that  he  was  sent  further  a-field  for  his  learning, 
being  moved  from  this  to  the  other  boarding-school  as 
the  occasion  demanded.  Goldsmith's  school-life  could 
not  have  been  altogether  a  pleasant  time  for  him.  We 
hear,  indeed,  of  his  being  concerned  in  a  good  many 
frolics — robbing  orchards,  and  the  like  ;  and  it  is  said 
that  he  attained  proficiency  in  the  game  of  fives.  But  a 
shy  and  sensitive  lad  like  Goldsmith,  who  was  eagerly 
desirous  of  being  thought  well  of,  and  whose  appearance 
only  invited  the  thoughtless  but  cruel  ridicule  of  his 
schoolmates,  must  have  suffered  a  good  deal.  lie  was 
little,  pitted  with  the  small -pox,  and  awkward  ;  and 
schoolboys  are  amazingly  frank.  He  was  not  strong 
enough  to  thrash  them  into  respect  of  him  ;  he  had  no 
big  brother  to  become  his  champion  ;  his  pocket-money 
was  not  lavish  enough  to  enable  him  to  buy  over  enemies 
or  subsidize  allies. 

In  similar  circumstances  it  has  sometimes  happened 
that  a  boy  physically  inferior  to  his  companions  has  con- 
soled himself  by  proving  his  mental  prowess — has  scored 
off  his  failure  at  cricket  by  the  taking  of  prizes,  and  has 
revenged  himself  for  a  drubbing  by  writing  a  lampoon. 
But  even  this  last  resource  was  not  open  to  Goldsmith. 
He  was  a  dull  boy  ;  "a  stupid,  heavy  blockhead,"  is 
Dr.  Strean's  phrase  in  summing  up  the  estimate  formed 
of  young  Goldsmith  by   his   contemporaries   at  school. 


II.]  SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE.  9 

Of  course,  as  soon  as  he  became  famous,  everybody 
began  to  hunt  up  recollections  of  his  having  said  or  done 
this  or  that,  in  order  to  prove  that  there  were  signs  of 
the  coming  greatness.  People  began  to  remember  that 
he  had  been  suspected  of  scribbling  verses,  which  he 
burned.  What  schoolboy  has  not  done  the  like  ?  We 
know  how  the  biographers  of  great  painters  point  out  to 
us  that  their  hero  early  showed  the  bent  of  his  mind  by 
drawing  the  figures  of  animals  on  doors  and  walls  with  a 
piece  of  chalk  ;  as  to  which  it  may  be  observed  that,  if 
every  schoolboy  who  scribbled  verses  and  sketched  in 
chalk  on  a  brick  wall  were  to  grow  up  a  genius,  poems 
and  pictures  would  be  plentiful  enough.  However,  there 
is  the  apparently  authenticated  anecdote  of  young  Gold- 
smith's turning  the  tables  on  the  fiddler  at  his  uncle's 
dancing-party.  The  fiddler,  struck  by  the  odd  look  of 
the  boy  who  was  capering  about  the  room,  called  out 
"iEsop  !"  Avhereupon  Goldsmith  is  said  to  have  in- 
stantly replied, 

"  Our  herald  hath  proclaimed  this  saying, 
See  iEsop  dancing  and  his  monkey  playing  !" 

But  even  if  this  story  be  true,  it  is  worth  nothing  as  an 
augury  ;  for  quickness  of  repartee  was  precisely  the 
accomplishment  which  the  adult  Goldsmith  conspicuously 
lacked.  Put  a  pen  into  his  hand,  and  shut  him  up  in 
a  room  :  then  he  was  master  of  the  situation — nothing 
could  be  more  incisive,  polished,  and  easy  than  his  play- 
ful sarcasm.  But  in  society  any  fool  could  get  the  better 
of  him  by  a  sudden  question  followed  by  a  horse-laugh. 
All  through  his  life — even  after  he  had  become  one  of 
the  most  famous  of  living  writers — Goldsmith  suffered 
from  want  of  self-confidence.      He  was    too  anxious  to 

please.      In  his  eager  acquiescence,  he  would  blunder  into 
B  15 


10  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

any  trap  that  was  laid  for  him.  A  grain  or  two  of  the 
stolid  self-sufficiency  of  the  blockheads  who  laughed  at 
him  would  not  only  have  improved  his  character,  but 
would  have  considerably  added  to  the  happiness  of  his 
life. 

As  a  natural  consequence  of  this  timidity,  Goldsmith, 
when  opportunity  served,  assumed  airs  of  magnificent 
importance.  Every  one  knows  the  story  of  the  mistake 
on  which  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  is  founded.  Getting 
free  at  last  from  all  the  turmoil,  and  anxieties,  and 
mortifications  of  school-life,  and  returning  home  on  a 
hut  hack,  the  released  schoolboy  is  feeling  very  grand 
indeed.  He  is  now  sixteen,  would  fain  pass  for  a  man, 
and  has  a  whole  golden  guinea  in  his  pocket.  And  so 
he  takes  the  journey  very  leisurely  until,  getting  be- 
nighted in  a  certain  village,  he  asks  the  way  to  the 
"  best  house,"  and  is  directed  by  a  facetious  person 
to  the  house  of  the  squire.  The  squire  by  good  luck 
falls  in  with  the  joke  ;  and  then  we  have  a  very  pretty 
comedy  indeed — the  impecunious  schoolboy  playing  the 
part  of  a  fine  gentleman  on  the  strength  of  his  solitary 
guinea,  ordering  a  bottle  of  wine  after  his  supper,  and 
inviting  his  landlord  and  his  landlord's  wife  and  daugh- 
ter to  join  him  in  the  supper-room.  The  contrast,  in 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer,  between  -Marlow's  embarrassed 
diffidence  on  certain  occasions  and  his  audacious 
effrontery  on  others,  found  many  a  parallel  in  the  inci- 
dents of  Goldsmith's  own  life  ;  and  it  is  not  improb- 
able that  the  writer  of  the  comedy  was  thinking  of  some 
of  his  own  experiences,  when  he  made  Miss  llardcastle 
say  to  her  timid  suitor  :  "A  want  of  courage  upon 
some  occasions  assumes  the  appearance  of  ignorance,  and 
betrays  us  when  we  most  want  to  excel." 


n.]  SCHOOL  AND  COLLEGE.  11 

It  was,  perhaps,  just  as  well  that  the  supper,  and 
bottle  of  wine,  and  lodging  at  Squire  Featherston's  had 
not  to  be  paid  for  out  of  the  schoolboy's  guinea  ;  for 
young  Goldsmith  was  now  on  his  way  to  college,  and  the 
funds  at  the  disposal  of  the  Goldsmith  family  were  not 
over-abundant.  Goldsmith's  sister  having  married  the 
son  of  a  well-to-do  man,  her  father  considered  it  a  point 
of  honor  that  she  should  have  a  dowry  ;  and  in  giving 
her  a  sum  of  £400  he  so  crippled  the  means  of  the 
family,  that  Goldsmith  had  to  be  sent  to  college  not  as 
a  pensioner  but  as  a  sizar.  It  appears  that  the  young 
gentleman's  pride  revolted  against  this  proposal  ;  and 
that  he  was  won  over  to  consent  only  by  the  persuasions 
of  his  uncle  Contarine,  who  himself  had  been  a  sizar. 
So  Goldsmith,  now  in  his  eighteenth  year,  went  to  Dub- 
lin ;  managed  somehow  or  other — though  he  was  the  last 
in  the  list — to  pass  the  necessary  examination  ;  and  en- 
tered upon  his  college  career  (1745). 

How  he  lived,  and  what  he  learned,  at  Trinity  College, 
are  both  largely  matters  of  conjecture  ;  the»chief  features 
of  such  record  as  we  have  are  the  various  means  of 
raising  a  little  money  to  which  the  poor  sizar  had  to  re- 
sort ;  a  continual  quarrelling  with  his  tutor,  an  ill-condi- 
tioned brute,  who  baited  Goldsmith  and  occasionally  beat 
him  ;  and  a  chance  frolic  when  funds  were  forthcoming 
It  was  while  he  was  at  Trinity  College  that  his  father 
died  ;  so  that  Goldsmith  was  rendered  more  than  ever 
dependent  on  the  kindness  of  his  uncle  Contarine,  who 
throughout  seems  to  have  taken  much  interest  in  his  odd, 
ungainly  nephew.  A  loan  from  a  friend  or  a  visit  to  the 
pawnbroker  tided  over  the  severer  difficulties  ;  and  then 
from  time  to  time  the  writing  of  street-ballads,  for  which 
he  got  five  shillings  a-piece  at  a  certain  repository,  came 


12  GOLDSMITH.  [chap.  ii. 

in  to  help.  It  was  a  happy-go-lucky,  hand-to-mouth  sort 
of  existence,  involving  a  good  deal  of  hardship  and  humil- 
iation, but  having  its  frolics  and  gayeties  notwithstand- 
ing. One  of  these  was  pretty  near  to  putting  an  end  to 
his  collegiate  career  altogether.  He  had,  smarting  under 
a  public  admonition  for  having  been  concerned  in  a  riot, 
taken  seriously  to  his  studies  and  had  competed  for  a 
scholarship.  He  missed  the  scholarship,  but  gained  an 
exhibition  of  the  value  of  thirty  shillings  ;  whereupon 
he  collected  a  number  of  friends  of  both  sexes  in  his 
rooms,  and  proceeded  to  have  high  jinks  there.  In  the 
midst  of  the  dancing  and  uproar,  in  conies  his  tutor,  in 
such  a  passion  that  he  knocks  Goldsmith  down.  This 
insult,  received  before  his  friends,  was  too  much  for  the 
unlucky  sizar,  who,  the  very  next  day,  sold  his  books, 
ran  away  from  college,  and  ultimately,  after  having 
been  on  the  verge  of  starvation  once  or  twice,  made  his 
way  to  Lissoy.  Here  his  brother  got  hold  of  him,  per- 
suaded him  to  go  back,  and  the  escapade  was  condoned 
somehow.  Goldsmith  remained  at  Trinity  College  until 
he  took  his  degree  (1*749).  He  was  again  lowest  in  the 
list  ;  but  still  he  had  passed  ;  and  he  must  have  learned 
something.  He  was  now  twenty-one,  with  all  the  world 
before  him  ;  and  the  question  was  as  to  how  he  was  to 
employ  such  knowledge  as  he  had  acquired. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IDLENESS  AND  FOREIGN  TRAVEL. 

But  Goldsmith  was  not  in  any  hurry  to  acquire  either 
wealth  or  fame.  He  had  a  happy  knack  of  enjoying  the 
present  hour — especially  when  there  were  one  or  two 
boon  companions  with  him,  and  a  pack  of  cards  to  be 
found  ;  and,  after  his  return  to  his  mother's  house, 
he  appears  to  have  entered  upon  the  business  of  idle- 
ness with  much  philosophical  satisfaction.  If  he  was 
not  quite  such  an  unlettered  clown  as  he  has  de- 
scribed in  Tony  Lumpkin,  he  had  at  least  all  Tony 
Lumpkin's  high  spirits  and  love  of  joking  and  idling  ; 
and  he  was  surrounded  at  the  ale-house  by  just  such 
a  company  of  admirers  as  used  to  meet  at  the  fa- 
mous Three  Pigeons.  Sometimes  he  helped  in  his 
brother's  school  ;  sometimes  he  went  errands  for  his 
mother  ;  occasionally  he  would  sit  and  meditatively  play 
the  flute — for  the  day  was  to  be  passed  somehow  ;  then 
in  the  evening  came  the  assemblage  in  Conway's  inn, 
with  the  glass,  and  the  pipe,  and  the  cards,  and  the  up- 
roarious jest  or  song.  "  But  Scripture  saith  an  ending  to 
all  fine  things  must  be,"  and  the  friends  of  this  jovial 
young  "  buckeen"  began  to  tire  of  his  idleness  and  his 
recurrent  visits.  They  gave  him  hints  that  he  might  set 
about  doing  something  to  provide  himself  with  a  living  ; 


14  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

and  the  first  tiling  they  thought  of  was  that  lie  should  go 
into  the  Church — perhaps  as  a  sort  of  purification-house 
after  George  Conway's  inn.  Accordingly  Goldsmith, 
who  appears  to  have  heen  a  most  good-natured  and  com- 
pliant youth,  did  make  application  to  the  Bishop  of 
Elphin.  There  is  some  doubt  about  the  precise  reasons 
which  induced  the  Bishop  to  decline  Goldsmith's  appli- 
cation, but  at  any  rate  the  Church  was  denied  the  aid  of 
the  young  man's  eloquence  and  erudition.  Then  he 
tried  teaching,  and  through  the  good  offices  of  his  uncle 
he  obtained  a  tutorship  which  he  held  for  a  considerable 
time — long  enough,  indeed,  to  enable  him  to  amass  a 
sum  of  thirty  pounds.  When  he  quarrelled  with  his  pa- 
tron, and  once  more  "  took  the  world  for  his  pillow,"  as 
the  Gaelic  stories  say,  he  had  this  sum  in  his  pocket  and 
was  possessed  of  a  good  horse. 

He  started  away  from  Ballymahon,  where  his  mother 
was  now  living,  with  some  vague  notion  of  making  his  for- 
tune as  casual  circumstance  might  direct.  The  expedi- 
tion came  to  a  premature  end  ;  and  he  returned  without 
the  money,  and  on  the  back  of  a  wretched  animal,  tell- 
ing his  mother  a  cock-and-bull  story  of  the  most  amus- 
ing simplicity.  "  If  Uncle  Contarine  believed  those  let- 
ters," says  Mr.  Thackeray,  " if  Oliver's  mother  be- 
lieved that  story  which  the  youth  related  of  his  going  to 
Cork,  with  the  purpose  of  embarking  for  America  ;  of 
his  having  paid  his  passage-money,  and  having  sent  his 
kit  on  board  ;  of  the  anonymous  captain  sailing  away 
with  Oliver's  valuable  luggage,  in  a  nameless  ship, 
never  to  return — if  Uncle  Contarine  and  the  mother  at 
Ballymahon  believed  his  stories,  they  must  have  been  a 
very  simple  pair  ;  as  it  was  a  very  simple  rogue  indeed 
who  cheated  them."     Indeed,  if  any  one  is  anxious  to 


III.]  IDLENESS  AND  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  15 

fill  up  this  hiatus  in  Goldsmith's  life,  the  best  thing  he 
can  do  is  to  discard  Goldsmith's  suspicious  record  of  his 
adventures,  and  put  in  its  place  the  faithful  record  of  the 
adventures  of  Mr.  Barry  Lyndon,  when  that  modest 
youth  left  his  mother's  house  and  rode  to  Dublin,  with  a 
certain  number  of  guineas  in  his  pocket.  But  whether 
Uncle  Contarine  believed  the  story  or  no,  he  was  ready  to 
give  the  young  gentleman  another  chance  ;  and  this  time 
it  was  the  legal  profession  that  was  chosen.  Goldsmith 
got  fifty  pounds  from  his  uncle,  and  reached  Dublin.  In 
a  remarkably  brief  space  of  time  he  had  gambled  away 
the  fifty  pounds,  and  was  on  his  way  back  to  Ballyma- 
hon,  where  his  mother's  reception  of  him  was  not  very 
cordial,  though  his  uncle  forgave  him,  and  was  once  more 
ready  to  start  him  in  life.  But  in  what  direction  ? 
Teaching,  the  Church,  and  the  law  had  lost  their  attrac- 
tions for  him.  Well,  this  time  it  was  medicine.  In 
fact,  any  sort  of  project  was  capable  of  drawing  forth  the 
good  old  uncle's  bounty.  The  funds  were  again  forth- 
coming ;  Goldsmith  started  for  Edinburgh,  and  now 
(1752)  saw  Ireland  for  the  last  time. 

He  lived,  and  he  informed  his  uncle  that  he  studied, 
in  Edinburgh  for  a  year  and  a  half  ;  at  the  end  of  which 
time  it  appeared  to  him  that  his  knowledge  of  medicine 
would  be  much  improved  by  foreign  travel.  There  was 
Albinus,  for  example,  "  the  great  professor  of  Ley  den, " 
as  he  wrote  to  the  credulous  uncle,  from  whom  he  would 
doubtless  learn  much.  When,  having  got  another  twen- 
ty pounds  for  travelling  expenses,  he  did  reach  Ley- 
den  (1754),  he  mentioned  Gaubius,  the  chemical  profes- 
sor. Gaubius  is  also  a  good  name.  That  his  intercourse 
with  these  learned  persons,  and  the  serious  nature  of  his 
studies,  were  not  incompatible  with  a  little  light  relaxa- 


16  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

tioii  in  the  way  of  gambling  is  not  impossible.  On  one 
occasion,  it  is  said,  be  was  so  lucky  that  be  came  to  a 
fellow-student  with  bis  pockets  full  of  money  ;  and  was 
induced  to  resolve  never  to  play  again — a  resolution  bro- 
ken about  as  soon  as  made.  Of  course  be  lost  all  bis 
winnings,  and  more  ;  and  bad  to  borrow  a  trifling  sum  to 
get  bimself  out  of  tbc  place.  Then  an  incident  occurs 
which  is  highly  characteristic  of  the  better  side  of  Gold- 
smith's nature.  He  had  just  got  this  money,  and  was 
about  to  leave  Ley  den,  when,  as  Mr.  Forster  writes,  "  he 
passed  a  florist's  garden  on  his  return,  and  seeing  some 
rare  and  high-priced  flower,  which  his  uncle  Contarinc, 
an  enthusiast  in  such  things,  had  often  spoken  and  been 
in  search  of,  he  ran  in  without  other  thought  than  of  im- 
mediate pleasure  to  his  kindest  friend,  bought  a  parcel  of 
the  roots,  and  sent  them  off  to  Ireland."  He  had  a 
guinea  in  his  pocket  when  he  started  on  the  grand  tour. 

Of  this  notable  period  in  Goldsmith's  life  (1755-6) 
very  little  is  known,  though  a  good  deal  has  been 
guessed.  A  minute  record  of  all  the  personal  adventures 
that  befell  the  wayfarer  as  he  trudged  from  country  to 
country,  a  diary  of  the  odd  humors  and  fancies  that  must 
have  occurred  to  him  in  his  solitary  pilgrimages,  would 
be  of  quite  inestimable  value  ;  but  even  the  letters  that 
Goldsmith  wrote  home  from  time  to  time  .arc  lost  ;  while 
The  Traveller  consists  chiefly  of  a  series  of  philosophical 
reflections  on  the  government  of  various  stales,  more 
likely  to  have  engaged  the  attention  of  a  Fleet-street 
author,  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  books,  than  to  have 
occupied  the  mind  of  a  tramp  anxious  about  his  supper 
and  his  night's  lodging.  Boswell  says  he  "  disputed" 
his  way  through  Europe.  It  is  much  more  probable  that 
he  begged  his  way  through  Europe.     The  romantic  ver- 


in.]  IDLENESS    AND  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  17 

sion,  which  has  been  made  the  subject  of  many  a  charm- 
ing picture,  is  that  he  was  entertained  by  the  peasantry 

whom  he  had  delighted  with  his  playing  on  the  flute.  It 
is  quite  probable  that  Goldsmith,  whose  imagination  had 
been  captivated  by  the  story  of  how  Baron  von  Ilolberg 
had  as  a  young  man  really  passed  through  France,  Ger- 
many, and  Holland  in  this  Orpheus-like  manner,  may 
have  put  a  flute  in  his  pocket  when  he  left  Leyden  ;  but 
it  is  far  from  safe  to  assume,  as  is  generally  done,  that 
Goldsmith  was  himself  the  hero  of  the  adventures  de- 
scribed in  Chapter  XX.  of  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  It 
is  the  more  to  be  regretted  that  we  have  no  authentic 
record  of  these  devious  wanderings,  that  by  this  time 
Goldsmith  had  acquired,  as  is  shown  in  other  letters,  a 
polished,  easy,  and  graceful  style,  with  a  very  considera- 
ble faculty  of  humorous  observation.  Those  ingenious 
letters  to  his  uncle  (they  usually  included  a  little  hint 
about  money)  were,  in  fact,  a  trifle  too  literary  both  in 
substance  and  in  form  ;  we  could  even  now,  looking  at 
them  with  a  pardonable  curiosity,  have  spared  a  little  of 
their  formal  antithesis  for  some  more  precise  information 
about  the  writer  and  his  surroundings. 

The  strangest  thing  about  this  strange  journey  all  over 
Europe  was  the  failure  of  Goldsmith  to  pick  up  even  a 
common  and  ordinary  acquaintance  with  the  familiar 
facts  of  natural  history.  The  ignorance  on  this  point  of 
the  author  of  the  Animated  Nature  was  a  constant  sub- 
ject of  jest  among  Goldsmith's  friends.  They  declared 
he  could  not  tell  the  difference  between  any  two  sorts  of 
barn-door  fowl  until  he  saw  them  cooked  and  on  the 
table.  But  it  may  be  said  prematurely  here  that,  even 
when  he  is  wrong  as  to  his  facts  or  his  sweeping  general- 
izations, one  is  inclined  to  forgive  him  on  account  of  tho 


18  GOLDSMITH.  [cha?. 

quaint  gracefulness  and  point  of  his  style.  When  Mr. 
Burchell  says,  "  This  rule  seems  to  extend  even  to  other 
animals  :  the  little  vermin  race  arc  ever  treacherous, 
cruel,  and  cowardly,  whilst  those  endowed  with  strength 
and  power  are  generous,  brave,  and  gentle,"  we  scarcely 
stop  to  reflect  that  the  merlin,  which  is  not  much  bigger 
than  a  thrush,  has  an  extraordinary  courage  and  spirit, 
while  the  lion,  if  all  stories  be  true,  is,  unless  when 
goaded  by  hunger,  an  abject  skulker.  Elsewhere,  indeed, 
in  the  Animated  Nature,  Goldsmith  gives  credit  to  the 
smaller  birds  for  a  good  deal  of  valor,  and  then  goes  on 
to  say,  with  a  charming  freedom,  "  But  their  conten- 
tions are  sometimes  of  a  gentler  nature.  Two  male  birds 
shall  strive  in  song  till,  after  a  long  struggle,  the  loudest 
shall  entirely  silence  the  other.  During  these  contentions 
the  female  sits  an  attentive  silent  auditor,  and  often 
rewards  the  loudest  songster  with  her  company  during 
the  season."  Yet  even  this  description  of  the  battle  of 
the  bards,  with  the  queen  of  love  as  arbiter,  is  scarcely 
so  amusing  as  his  happy-go-lucky  notions  with  regard  to 
the  variability  of  species.  The  philosopher,  flute  in 
hand,  who  went  wandering  from  the  canals  of  Holland  to 
the  ice-ribbed  falls  of  the  Rhine,  may  have  heard  from 
time  to  time  that  contest  between  singing-birds  which  he 
so  imaginatively  describes  ;  but  it  was  clearly  the  Fleet- 
street  author,  living  among  books,  who  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  intermarriage  of  species  is  common 
among  small  birds  and  rare  among  big  birds.  Quoting 
some  lines  of  Addison's  which  express  the  belief  that 
birds  are  a  virtuous  race — that  the  nightingale,  for  exam- 
ple, does  not  covet  the  wife  of  his  neighbor,  the  black- 
bird— Goldsmith  goes  on  to  observe,  "  But  whatever 
may  be  the  poet's  opinion,  the  probability  is  against  this 


Hi.]  IDLENESS  AND  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  13 

fidelity  among  the  smaller  tenants  of  the  grove.  The 
great  birds  are  much  more  true  to  their  species  than 
these  ;  and,  of  consequence,  the  varieties  among  them 
are  more  few.  Of  the  ostrich,  the  cassowary,  and  the 
eagle,  there  are  but  few  species  ;  and  no  arts  that  man 
can  use  could  probably  induce  them  to  mix  with  each 
other." 

What  he  did  bring  back  from  his  foreign  travels  was  a 
medical  degree.  Where  he  got  it,  and  how  he  got  it,  aro 
alike  matters  of  pure  conjecture  ;  but  it  is  extremely  im- 
probable that — whatever  he  might  have  been  willing  to 
write  home  from  Padua  or  Louvain,  in  order  to  coax  an- 
other remittance  from  his  Irish  friends — he  would  after- 
wards, in  the  presence  of  such  men  as  Johnson,  Burke, 
and  Reynolds,  wear  sham  honors.  It  is  much  more 
probable  that,  on  his  finding  those  supplies  from  Ireland 
running  ominously  short,  the  philosophic  vagabond  de- 
termined to  prove  to  his  correspondents  that  he  was 
really  at  work  somewhere,  instead  of  merely  idling  away 
his  time,  begging  or  borrowing  the  wherewithal  to  pass 
him  from  town  to  town.  That  he  did  see  something  of 
the  foreign  universities  is  evident  from  his  own  writings  ; 
there  are  touches  of  description  here  and  there  which  he 
could  not  well  have  got  from  books.  With  this  degree, 
and  with  such  book-learning  and  such  knowledge  of  na- 
ture and  human  nature  as  he  had  chosen  or  managed  to 
pick  up  during  all  those  years,  he  was  now  called  upon 
to  begin  life  for  himself.  The  Irish  supplies  stopped 
altogether.  His  letters  were  left  unanswered  And  so 
Goldsmith  somehow  or  other  got  back  to  London  (Feb- 
ruary 1,  1756),  and  had  to  cast  about  for  some  way  of 
earning  his  daily  bread. 


CHAPTER  IY 

EARLY    STRUGGLES HACK-WRITING. 

ITere  ensued  a  very  dark  period  in  his  life.  He  was 
alone  in  London,  without  friends,  without  money,  with- 
out introductions  ;  his  appearance  was  the  reverse  of  pre- 
possessing ;  and,  even  despite  that  medical  degree  and 
his  acquaintance  with  the  learned  Albinus  and  the  learned 
Gaubius,  he  had  practically  nothing  of  any  value  to  offer 
for  sale  in  the  great  labor-market  of  the  world.  How  he 
managed  to  live  at  all  is  a  mystery  :  it  is  certain  that  lie 
must  have  endured  a  great  deal  of  want  ;  and  one  may 
well  sympathize  with  so  gentle  and  sensitive  a  creature 
reduced  to  such  straits,  without  inquiring  too  curiously 
into  the  causes  of  his  misfortunes.  If,  on  the  one  hand, 
we  cannot  accuse  society,  or  Christianity,  or  the  English 
government  of  injustice  and  cruelty  because  Goldsmith 
had  gambled  away  bis  chances  and  was  now  called  on  to 
pay  the  penalty,  on  the  other  band,  we  had  better,  before 
blaming  Goldsmith  himself,  inquire  into  the  origin  of 
those  defects  of  character  which  produced  such  results. 
As  this  would  involve  an  excursus  into  the  controversy 
between  Necessity  and  Free-will,  probably  most  people 
would  rather  leave  it  alone.  It  may  safely  be  said  in 
any  case  that,  while  Goldsmith's  faults  and  follies,  of 
which   he   himself   had   to   suffer   the   consequences,  are 


IV.  1  EARLY   STRUGGLES— HACK- WRITING.  21 

patent  enough,  his  character,  on  the  whole,  was  distinctly 
a  lovable   one.     Goldsmith   was   his   own   enemy,    and 
everybody  else's  friend  :    that    is  not  a  serious    indict- 
ment,  as  things  go.     He  was  quite  well  aware  of  his 
weaknesses  ;  and  he  was  also — it  may  be  hinted — aware 
of  the  good-nature  which  he  put  forward  as  condona- 
tion.    If  some  foreigner  were  to  ask  how  it  is  that  so 
thoroughly  a  commercial  people   as   the   English   are — 
strict   in   the    acknowledgment    and    payment    of   debt 
— should  have  always  betrayed  a  sneaking  fondness  for 
the   character   of   the   good-humored  scapegrace   whose 
hand    is  in  everybody's  pocket,  and  who  throws  away 
other  people's  money  with  the  most  charming  air  in  the 
world,  Goldsmith  might  be  pointed  to  as  one  of  many 
literary  teachers  whose  own  circumstances  were  not  likely 
to  make  them  severe  censors  of  the  Charles  Surfaces,  or 
lenient  judges  of  the  Joseph  Surfaces  of  the  world.     Be 
merry  while  you  may  ;  let  to-morrow  take  care  of  itself  ; 
share  your  last  guinea  with  any  one,  even  if  the  poor 
drones  of  society — the  butcher,  and  baker,  and  milkman 
with  his  score — have  to  suffer  ;  do  any  thing  you  like,  so 
long  as  you  keep  the  heart  warm.     All  this  is  a  delight- 
ful philosophy.     It  has  its  moments  of  misery— its  pe- 
riods of  reaction — but  it  has  its  moments  of  high  delight. 
When  we  are  invited  to  contemplate  the   "  evil  destinies 
of  men   of   letters,"  we  ought  to  be    shown   the   flood- 
tides  as  well  as  the  ebb-tides.     The  tavern  gayety  ;  the 
brand-new  coat  and  lace  and  sword  ;  the  midnight  frolics, 
with  jolly  companions  every  one — these,  however  brief 
and  intermittent,   should  not  be  wholly  left  out  of  the 
picture.     Of  course  it  is  very  dreadful  to  hear  of  poor 
Boyse  lying  in  bed  with  nothing  but  a  blanket  over  him, 
and  with  his  arms  thrust  through  two  holes  in  the  Man- 


22  GOLDSMITH.  [chap 

ket,  so  that  he  could  write — perhaps  a  continuation  of 
his  poem  on  the  Deity.  But  then  we  should  be  shown 
Boyse  when  he  was  spending  the  money  collected  by  Dr. 
Johnson  to  get  the  poor  scribbler's  clothes  out  of  pawn  ; 
and  we  should  also  be  shown  him,  with  his  hands 
through  the  holes  in  the  blanket,  enjoying  the  mushrooms 
and  truffles  on  which,  as  a  little  garniture  for  "  his  last 
scrap  of.  beef,"  he  had  just  laid  out  his  last  half-guinea. 

There  were  but  few  truffles — probably  there  was  but 
little  beef — for  Goldsmith  during  this  sombre  period. 
"  His  threadbare  coat,  his  uncouth  figure,  and  Hibernian 
dialect  caused  him  to  meet  with  repeated  refusals."  But 
at  length  he  got  some  employment  in  a  chemist's  shop, 
and  this  was  a  start.  Then  he  tried  practising  in  a  small 
way  on  his  own  account  in  Southwark.  Here  he  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  printer's  workman  ;  and  through 
him  he  was  engaged  as  corrector  of  the  press  in  the 
establishment  of  Mr.  Samuel  Richardson.  Being  so  near 
to  literature,  he  caught  the  infection  ;  and  naturally  be- 
gan with  a  tragedy.  This  tragedy  was  shown  to  the 
author  of  Clarissa  Harlowe  ;  but  it  only  went  the  way  of 
many  similar  first  inspiritings  of  the  Muse.  Then  Gold- 
smith drifted  to  Peckham,  where  we  find  him  (1757)  in- 
stalled as  usher  at  Dr.  Milner's  school.  Goldsmith  as 
usher  has  been  the  object  of  much  sympathy  ;  and  he 
would  certainly  deserve  it,  if  we  are  to  assume  that  his 
description  of  an  usher's  position  in  the  Bee,  and  in 
George  Primrose's  advice  to  his  cousin,  was  a  full  and 
accurate  description  of  his  life  at  Peckham.  "  Brow- 
beat by  the  master,  hated  for  my  ugly  face  by  the  mis- 
tress, worried  by  the  boys" — if  that  was  his  life,  he  waa 
much  to  be  pitied.  But  we  cannot  believe  it.  The  Mil- 
ners  were  exceedingly  kind  to  Goldsmith.     It  was  at  tho 


IV.]  EARLY  STRUGGLES— HACK-WRITING.  23 

intercession  of  young  Milner,  who  had  been  his  fellow- 
student  at  Edinburgh,  that  Goldsmith  got  the  situation, 
which  at  all  events  kept  him  out  of  the  reach  of  immedi- 
ate want.     It  was  through  the  Milners  that  he  was  intro- 
duced to  Griffiths,  who  gave  him  a  chance  of  trying  a 
literary  career — as  a  hack-writer  of  reviews  and  so  forth. 
When,   having  got  tired   of  that,   Goldsmith   was  again 
floating   vaguely    on    the    waves    of    chance,   where  did 
he  find  a  harbor  but  in  that  very  school   at  Peckham  ? 
And  we  have  the  direct  testimony  of  the  youngest  of  Dr. 
Milner's  daughters,   that  this  Irish  usher  of  theirs   was 
a  remarkably  cheerful,  and  even   facetious  person,   con- 
stantly playing  tricks  and  practical  jokes,   amusing  tlie 
boys  by  telling  stories  and  by  performances  on  the  flute, 
living  a  careless  life,  and  always  in  advance  of  his  salary. 
Any  beggars,  or  group  of  children,  even  the  very  boys 
who  played  back  practical  jokes  on  him,  were  welcome 
to  a  share  of  what  small  funds  he  had  ;  and  we  all  know 
how  Mrs.   Milner  good-naturedly  said    one  day,    "  You 
had  better,  Mr.  Goldsmith,  let  me  keep  your  money  for 
you,  as  I  do  for  some  of  the  young  gentlemen  ;"  and 
how  he  answered  with  much  simplicity,  "  In  truth,  Mad- 
am,  there  is    equal  need."     With  Goldsmith's  love  of 
approbation  and  extreme  sensitiveness,  he  no  doubt  suf- 
fered deeply  from  many  slights,  now  as  at  other  times  ; 
but  what  we  know  of  his  life  in  the  Peckham  school  does 
not  incline  us  to    believe  that  it  was  an  especially  misera- 
ble period  of  his  existence.     His  abundant  cheerfulness 
does  not  seem  to  have  at  any  time  deserted  him  ;  and 
what  with  tricks,  and  jokes,  and  playing  of  the  flute,  the 
dull  routine  of  instructing  the  unruly  young  gentlemen  at 
•Dr.  Milner's  was  got  through  somehow. 

When  Goldsmith  left  the  Peckham  school  to  try  hack' 


24  GOLDSMITH.  [chap 

writing  in  Paternoster  Row,  he  was  going  further  to  fare 
worse.  Griffiths  the  bookseller,  when  he  met  Goldsmith 
at  Dr.  Milner's  dinner-table  and  invited  him  to  become  a 
reviewer,  was  doing  a  service  to  the  English  nation — for 
it  was  in  this  period  of  machine-work  that  Goldsmith  dis- 
covered that  happy  faculty  of  literary  expression  that  led 
to  the  composition  of  his  masterpieces — but  he  was  doing 
little  immediate  service  to  Goldsmith. 

The  newly-captured  hack  was  boarded   and  lodged  at 
Griffiths'  house  in  Paternoster  Row   (1757)  ;  he  was  to 
have  a  small  salary  in  consideration  of  remorselessly  con- 
stant work  ;  and — what  was  the  hardest  condition  of  all — 
he  was  to  have  his  writings  revised  by  Mrs.  Griffiths.     Mr. 
Forster  justly  remarks  that  though  at  last  Goldsmith  had 
thus  become  a  man-of -letters,  he  "  had  gratified  no  pas- 
sion   and    attained    no    object    of    ambition. "      lie    had 
taken  to  literature,  as  so  many  others  have  done,  merely 
as  a  last  resource.      And  if  it  is  true  that  literature  at  first 
treated  Goldsmith   harshly,    made  him  work  hard,    and 
gave  him  comparatively  little  for  what  he  did,  at  least  it 
must  be  said  that  his  experience  was  not  a  singular  one. 
Mr.  Forster  says  that  literature  was  at  that  time  in  a  tran- 
sition state  :  "  The  patron  was  gone,  and  the  public  had 
not  come."     But  when  Goldsmith  began  to   do   better 
than  hack-work,  he  found  a  public  speedily  enough.      If, 
as  Lord  Maeaulay  computes,  Goldsmith  received   in  the 
last  seven  years  of  his  life  what  was  equivalent  to  £5000 
of  our  money,  even  the  villain  booksellers  cannot  be  ac- 
cused of  having  starved  him.      At  the  outset  of  his  liter- 
ary career  he  received  no  large  sums,  for  he  had  achieved 
no  reputation  ;  but  he  got  the  market-rate  for  his  work. 
We  have  around  us  at  this  moment  plenty  of  hacks  who 


iv.]  EARLY   STRUGGLES— HACK-WRITING.  23 

do  not  earn  much  more  than  their  board  and  lodging 
with  a  small  salary. 

For  the  rest,  we  have  no  means  of  knowing  whether 
Goldsmith  got  through  his  work  with  ease  or  with  diffi- 
culty ;  but  it  is  obvious,  looking  over  the  reviews  which 
he  is  believed  to  have  written  for  Griffiths'  magazine, 
that  he  readily  acquired  the  professional  critic's  airs  of 
superiority,  along  with  a  few  tricks  of  the  trade,  no 
doubt  taught  him  by  Griffiths.  Several  of  these  reviews, 
for  example,  are  merely  epitomes  of  the  contents  of  the 
books  reviewed,  with  some  vague  suggestion  that  the 
writer  might,  if  he  had  been  less  careful,  have  done 
worse,  and,  if  he  had  been  more  careful,  might  have 
done  better.  Who  does  not  remember  how  the  philo- 
sophic vagabond  was  taught  to  become  a  cognoscento  ? 
"  The  whole  secret  consisted  in  a  strict  adherence  to  two 
rules  :  the  one  always  to  observe  that  the  picture  might 
have  been  better  if  the  painter  had  taken  more  pains  ; 
and  the  other  to  praise  the  works  of  Pietro  Perugino." 
It  is  amusing  to  observe  the  different  estimates  formed  of 
the  function  of  criticism  by  Goldsmith  the  critic  and  by 
Goldsmith  the  author.  Goldsmith,  sitting  at  Griffiths' 
desk,  naturally  magnifies  his  office,  and  announces  his 
opinion  that  "  to  direct  our  taste,  and  conduct  the  poet 
up  to  perfection,  has  ever  been  the  true  critic's  prov- 
ince." But  Goldsmith  the  author,  when  he  comes  to 
inquire  into  the  existing  state  of  Polite  Learning  in  Eu- 
rope, finds  in  criticism  not  a  help  but  a  danger.  It  is 
"  the  natural  destroyer  of  polite  learning."  And  again, 
in  the  Citizen  of  the  World,  he  exclaims  against  the  pre- 
tensions of  the  critic.  "  If  any  choose  to  be  critics,  it  is 
but  saying  they  are  critics  ;  and  from  that  time  forward 

they  become  invested  with  full  power  and  authority  over 
C  2*  16 


26  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

every  caitiff  who  aims  at  their  instruction  or  entertain- 
ment." 

This  at  least  may  be  said,  that  in  these  early  essays 
contributed  to  the  Monthly  Review  there  is  much  more 
of  Goldsmith  the  critic  than  of  Goldsmith  the  author. 
They  are  somewhat  labored  performances.  They  are  al- 
most devoid  of  the  sly  and  delicate  humor  that  after- 
wards marked  Goldsmith's  best  prose  work.  We  find 
throughout  his  trick  of  antithesis  ;  but  here  it  is  forced 
and  formal,  whereas  afterwards  lie  lent  to  this  habit  of 
writing  the  subtle  surprise  of  epigram.  They  have  the 
true  manner  of  authority,  nevertheless.  He  says  of 
Home's  Douglas:  "Those  parts  of  nature,  and  that 
rural  simplicity  with  which  the  author  was,  perhaps,  best 
acquainted,  are  not  unhappily  described  ;  and  hence  we 
are  led  to  conjecture  that  a  more  universal  knowledge  of 
nature  will  probably  increase  his  powers  of  description." 
If  the  author  had  written  otherwise,  he  would  have  writ- 
ten differently  ;  had  he  known  more,  he  would  not  have 
been  so  ignorant  ;  the  tragedy  is  a  tragedy,  but  why  did 
not  the  author  make  it  a  comedy  ? — this  sort  of  criticism 
has  been  heard  of  even  in  our  own  day.  However, 
Goldsmith  pounded  away  at  his  newly-found  work,  under 
the  eye  of  the  exacting  bookseller  and  his  learned  wife. 
We  find  him  dealing  with  Scandinavian  (here  called  Cel- 
tic) mythology,  though  he  does  not  adventure  on  much 
comment  of  his  own  ;  then  he  engages  Smollett's  History 
of  England,  but  mostly  in  the  way  of  extract  ;  anon  we 
find  him  reviewing  A  Journal  of  Eight  Days'  Journey, 
by  Jonas  Hanway,  of  whom  Johnson  said  that  he  made 
some  reputation  by  travelling  abroad,  and  lost  it  all  by 
travelling  at  home.  Then  again  we  find  him  writing  a  dis- 
quisition on  Some  Enquiries  concerning  the  First  Inhub* 


IT.]  EARLY   STRUGGLES— HACK-WRITING.  27 

itants,  Language,  Religion,  Learning,  and  Letters  of  Eu- 
rope,  by  a  Mr.  Wise,  who,  along  with  his  critic,  appears 
to  have  got  into  hopeless  confusion  in  believing  Basque 
and  Annorican  to  be  the  remains  of  the  same  ancient 
language.  The  last  phrase  of  a  note  appended  to  this 
review  by  Goldsmith  probably  indicates  his  own  humble 
estimate  of  his  work  at  this  time.  "  It  is  more  our  busi- 
ness," he  says,  "  to  exhibit  the  opinions  of  the  learned 
than  to  controvert  them."  In  fact,  he  was  employed  to 
boil  down  books  for  people  who  did  not  wish  to  spend 
more  on  literature  than  the  price  of  a  magazine. 
Though  he  was  new  to  the  trade,  it  is  probable  he  did  it 
as  well  as  any  other. 

At  the  end  of  live  months,  Goldsmith  and  Griffiths 
quarrelled  and  separated.  Griffiths  said  Goldsmith  was 
idle  ;  Goldsmith  said  Griffiths  was  impertinent  ;  proba- 
bly the  editorial  supervision  exercised  by  Mrs.  Griffiths 
had  something  to  do  with  the  dire  contention.  From 
Paternoster  Row  Goldsmith  removed  to  a  garret  in  Fleet 
Street  ;  had  his  letters  addressed  to  a  coffee-house  ;  and 
apparently  supported  himself  by  further  hack-work,  his 
connection  with  Griffiths  not  being  quite  severed.  Then 
he  drifted  back  to  Peckham  again  :  and  was  once  more 
installed  as  usher,  Dr.  Milner  being  in  especial  want  of  an 
assistant  at  this  time.  Goldsmith's  lingering  about  the 
gates  of  literature  had  not  inspired  him  with  any  great 
ambition  to  enter  the  enchanted  land.  But  at  the  same 
time  he  thought  he  saw  in  literature  a  means  by  which  a 
little  ready  money  might  be  made,  in  order  to  help  him 
on  to  something  more  definite  and  substantial  ;  and  this 
goal  was  now  put  before  him  by  Dr.  Milner,  iii  the  shape 
of  a  medical  appointment  on  the  Coromandcl  coast.  It 
was  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  this  appointment  that  he 


28  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

set  about  composing  that  Enquiry  into  the  Present  State 
of  Polite  Learning  in  Europe,  which  is  now  interesting 
to  us  as  the  first  of  his  more  ambitious  works.  As  the 
book  grew  under  his  hands,  he  began  to  cast  about  for 
subscribers  ;  and  from  the  Fleet-street  coffee-house — ho 
had  again  left  the  Peckham  school — he  addressed  to  his 
friends  and  relatives  a  series  of  letters  of  the  most  charm- 
ing humor,  which  might  have  drawn  subscriptions  from  a 
millstone.  To  his  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Hodson,  lie  sent  a 
glowing  account  of  the  great  fortune  in  store  for  him  on 
the  Coromandel  coast.  ' '  The  salary  is  but  trifling, ' '  he 
writes,  "  namely,  £100  per  annum,  but  the  other  advan- 
tages, if  a  person  be  prudent,  are  considerable.  The 
practice  of  the  place,  if  I  am  rightly  informed,  generally 
amounts  to  not  less  than  £1000  per  annum,  for  which 
the  appointed  physician  has  an  exclusive  privilege. 
This,  with  the  advantages  resulting  from  trade,  and  the 
high  interest  which  money  bears,  viz.  £20  per  cent,  are 
the  inducements  which  persuade  me  to  undergo  the 
fatigues  of  sea,  the  dangers  of  war,  and  the  still  greater 
dangers  of  the  climate  ;  which  induce  me  to  leave  a  place 
where  I  am  every  day  gaining  friends  and  esteem,  and 
where  I  might  enjoy  all  the  conveniences  of  life." 

The  surprising  part  of  this  episode  in  Goldsmith's  life 
is  that  he  did  really  receive  the  appointment  ;  in  fact,  he 
was  called  upon  to  pay  £10  for  the  appointment-warrant. 
In  this  emergency  he  went  to  the  proprietor  of  the  Criti- 
cal Review,  the  rival  of  the  Monthly,  and  obtained  some 
money  for  certain  anonymous  work  which  need  not  be 
mentioned  in  detail  here.  He  also  moved  into  another 
garret,  this  time  in  Green-Arbor  Court,  Fleet  Street,  in 
a  wilderness  of  slums.  The  Coromandel  project,  how- 
ever,   on    which    so   many   hopes    had    been   built,     fell 


IV.]         EARLY  STRUGGLES.—  HACK- WHITING.  29 

through.  No  explanation  of  the  collapse  could  be  got 
from  either  Goldsmith  himself  or  from  Dr.  Milner.  Mr. 
Forster  suggests  that  Goldsmith's  inability  to  raise  money 
for  his  outfit  may  have  been  made  the  excuse  for  trans- 
ferring the  appointment  to  another  ;  and  that  is  probable 
enough  ;  but  it  is  also  probable  that  the  need  for  such  an 
excuse  was  based  on  the  discovery  that  Goldsmith  was 
not  properly  qualified  for  the  post.  And  this  seems  the 
more  likely,  that  Goldsmith  immediately  afterwards  re- 
solved to  challenge  examination  at  Surgeons'  Hall.  He 
undertook  to  write  four  articles  for  the  Monthly  Review  ; 
Griffiths  became  surety  to  a  tailor  for  a  fine  suit  of 
clothes  ;  and  thus  equipped,  Goldsmith  presented  him- 
self at  Surgeons'  Hall.  He  only  wanted  to  be  passed  as 
hospital  mate  ;  but  even  that  modest  ambition  was  unful- 
filled. He  was  found  not  qualified,  and  returned,  with 
his  fine  clothes,  to  his  Fleet-street  den.  He  was  now 
thirty  years  of  age  (1758)  ;  and  had  found  no  definite 
occupation  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  V. 

BEGINNING    OF    AUTHORSHIP THE    BEK. 

During  the  period  that  now  ensued,  and  amid  much 
quarrelling  with  Griffiths  and  hack-writing  for  the  Criti- 
cal Review,  Goldsmith  managed  to  get  his  Enquiry  into 
the  Present  State  of  Polite  Learning  in  Europe  com- 
pleted ;  and  it  is  from  the  publication  of  that  work,  on 
the  2d  of  April,  1759,  that  we  may  date  the  beginning 
of  Goldsmith's  career  as  an  author.  The  book  was  pub- 
lished anonymously  ;  but  Goldsmith  was  not  at  all  anx- 
ious to  disclaim  the  parentage  of  his  first-born  ;  and  in 
Grub  Street  and  its  environs,  at  least,  the  authorship  of 
the  book  was  no  secret.  Moreover,  there  was  that  in  it 
which  was  likely  to  provoke  the  literary  tribe  to  plenty  of 
fierce  talking.  The  Enquiry  is  neither  more  nor  less 
than  an  endeavor  to  prove  that  criticism  has  in  all  ages 
been  the  deadly  enemy  of  art  and  literature  ;  coupled 
with  an  appeal  to  authors  to  draw  their  inspiration  from 
nature  rather  than  from  books,  and  varied  here  and  there 
by  a  gentle  sigh  over  the  loss  of  that  patronage,  in  the 
sunshine  of  which  men  of  genius  were  wont  to  bask. 
Goldsmith,  not  having  been  an  author  himself,  could  not 
have  suffered  much  at  the  hands  of  the  critics  ;  so  that  it 
is  not  to  be  supposed  that  personal  feeling  dictated  this 
fierce  onslaught  on  the  whole  tribe  of  critics,  compilers, 


v.]       BEGINNING  OF  AUTHORSHIP.— THE  BEE.         31 

and  commentators.  They  are  represented  to  ns  as  rank 
weeds  growing  np  to  choke  all  manifestations  of  true  art. 
"  Ancient  learning,"  we  are  told  at  the  outset,  "  may  be 
distinguished  into  three  periods  :  its  commencement,  or 
the  age  of  poets  ;  its  maturity,  or  the  age  of  philoso- 
phers ;  and  its  decline,  or  the  age  of  critics."  Then  our 
guide  carries  us  into  the  dark  ages  ;  and,  with  lantern  in 
hand,  shows  us  the  creatures  swarming  there  in  the  slug- 
gish pools — "  commentators,  compilers,  polemic  divines, 
and  intricate  metaphysicians. ' '  We  come  to  Italy  :  look 
at  the  affectations  with  which  the  Virtuosi  and  Filosofi 
have  enchained  the  free  spirit  of  poetry.  ' '  Poetry  is  no 
longer  among  them  an  imitation  of  what  we  see,  hut  of 
what  a  visionary  might  wish.  The  zephyr  breathes  the 
most  exquisite  perfume  ;  the  trees  wear  eternal  verdure  ; 
fawns,  and  dryads,  and  hamadryads,  stand  ready  to  fan 
the  sultry  shepherdess,  who  has  forgot,  indeed,  the  pret- 
tiness  with  which  Guarini's  shepherdesses  have  been  re- 
proached, but  is  so  simple  and  innocent  as  often  to  have 
no  meaning.  Happy  country,  where  the  pastoral  age  be- 
gins to  revive  ! — where  the  wits  even  of  Rome  are  united 
into  a  rural  group  of  nymphs  and  swains,  under  the  ap- 
pellation of  modern  Arcadians  ! — where  in  the  midst  of 
porticoes,  processions,  and  cavalcades,  abbes  turned 
shepherds  and  shepherdesses  without  sheep  indulge  their 
innocent  divertimenti  /" 

In  Germany  the  ponderous  volumes  of  the  commenta- 
tor^ next  come  in  for  animadversion  ;  and  here  we  find 
an  epigram,  the  quaint  simplicity  of  wdrich  is  peculiarly 
characteristic  of  Goldsmith.  ' '  Were  angels  to  write 
books,"  he  remarks,  "  they  never  would  write  folios." 
But  Germany  gets  credit  for  the  money  spent  by  hei 
potentates  on  learned  institutions  ;  and  it  is  perhaps  Eng- 


32  GOLDSMITH.  [cnAP. 

land  that  is  delicately  hinted  at  in  these  words  :  "  Had 
the  fourth  part  of  the  immense  sum  above  mentioned 
been  given  in  proper  rewards  to  genius,  in  some  neigh- 
boring countries,  it  would  have  rendered  the  name  of  the 
donor  immortal,  and  added  to  the  real  interests  of  soci- 
ety."    Indeed,  when  we  come  to  England,  we  find  that 
men  of  letters  are  in  a  bad  way,  owing  to  the  prevalence 
of  critics,  the  tyranny  of  booksellers,  and  the  absence  of 
patrons.      "  The  author,  when  unpatronized  by  the  great, 
has  naturally  recourse  to  the  bookseller.     There  cannot 
perhaps  be  imagined  a  combination  more  prejudicial  to 
taste  than  this.     It  is  the  interest  of  the  one  to  allow  as 
little  for  writing,  and  of  the  other  to  write  as  much  as 
possible.     Accordingly,  tedious  compilations  and  periodi- 
cal magazines  are  the  result  of  their  joint  endeavors.     In 
these  circumstances  the  author  bids  adieu  to  fame,  writes 
for  bread,   and    for  that  only.     Imagination    is   seldom 
called  in.     lie  sits  down  to  address  the  venal  muse  with 
the  most  phlegmatic  apathy  ;  and,  as  we  are  told  of  the 
Russian,  courts  his  mistress  by  falling  asleep  in  her  lap. 
His  reputation  never  spreads  in  a  wider  circle  than  that  of 
the  trade,  who  generally  value  him,  not  for  the  fineness 
of  his  compositions,  but  the  quantity  he  works  off  in  a 
given  time. 

"  A  long  habit  of  writing  for  bread  thus  turns  the  am- 
bition of  every  author  at  last  into  avarice.  He  finds  that 
he  has  written  many  years,  that  the  public  are  scarcely 
acquainted  even  with  his  name  ;  he  despairs  of  applause, 
and  turns  to  profit,  which  invites  him.  He  finds  that 
money  procures  all  those  advantages,  that  respect,  and 
that  ease  which  he  vainly  expected  from  fame.  Thus  the 
man  who,  under  the  protection  of  the  great,  might  have 
done  honor  to  humanity,  when  only  patronized  by  tho 


v.]       BEGINNING  OF  AUTHORSHIP.— THE  BEE.         33 

bookseller  becomes  a  thing  little  superior  to  the  fellow 
who  works  at  the  press. ' ' 

Nor  was  he  afraid  to  attack  the  critics  of  his  own  day, 
though  he  knew  that  the  two  Reviews  for  which  he  had 
recently  been  writing  would  have  something  to  say  about 
his  own  Enquiry.  This  is  how  he  disposes  of  the  Criti- 
cal and  the  Monthly:  "We  have  two  literary  Reviews 
in  London,  with  critical  newspapers  and  magazines  with- 
out number.  The  compilers  of  these  resemble  the  com- 
moners of  Rome  ;  they  are  all  for  levelling  property, 
not  by  increasing  their  own,  but  by  diminishing  that  of 
others.  The  man  who  has  any  good-nature  in  his  dispo- 
sition must,  however,  be  somewhat  displeased  to  see  dis- 
tinguished reputations  often  the  sport  of  ignorance — to 
see,  by  one  false  pleasantry,  the  future  peace  of  a  worthy 
man's  life  disturbed,  and  this  only  because  he  ha»  unsuc- 
cessfully attempted  to  instruct  or  amuse  us.  Though  ill- 
nature  is  far  from  being  wit,  yet  it  is  generally  laughed 
at  as  such.  The  critic  enjoys  the  triumph,  and  ascribes 
to  his  parts  what  is  only  due  to  his  effrontery.  I  fire 
with  indignation  when  I  see  persons  wholly  destitute  of 
education  and  genius  indent  to  the  press,  and  thus  turn 
book-makers,  adding  to  the  sin  of  criticism  the  sin  of 
ignorance  also  ;  whose  trade  is  a  bad  one,  and  who  are 
bad  workmen  in  the  trade."  Indeed  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  random  hitting  in  the  Enquiry,  which  was  sure 
to  provoke  resentment.  Why,  for  example,  should  he 
have  gone  out  of  his  way  to  insult  the  highly  respectable 
class  of  people  who  excel  in  mathematical  studies  ? 
"  This  seems  a  science,"  he  observes,  "  to  which  the 
meanest  intellects  are  equal.  I  forget  who  it  is  that 
says,  '  All  men  might  understand  mathematics  if  they 
would.'  "     There  was  also  in  the  first  edition  of  the  En- 


ui  GOLDSMITH.  [chaf. 

quiry  a  somewhat  ungenerous  attack  on  stage-managers, 
actors,  actresses,  and  theatrical  things  in  general  ;  but 
this  was  afterwards  wisely  excised.  It  is  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that,  on  the  whole,  the  Enquiry  should 
have  been  severely  handled  in  certain  quarters.  Smol- 
lett, who  reviewed  it  in  the  Critical  Review,  appears  to 
have  kept  his  temper  pretty  well  for  a  Scotchman  ;  but 
Kenrick,  a  hack  employed  by  Griffiths  to  maltreat  the 
book  in  the  Monthly  Rcviexo,  flourished  his  bludgeon  in  a 
brave  manner.  The  coarse  personalities  and  malevolent 
insinuations  of  this  bully  no  doubt  hurt  Goldsmith  con- 
siderably ;  but,  as  we  look  at  them  now,  they  are  only 
remarkable  for  their  dulness.  If  Griffiths  had  had  an- 
other Goldsmith  to  reply  to  Goldsmith,  the  retort  would 
have  been  better  worth  reading  ;  one  can  imagine  the 
playful  sarcasm  that  would  have  been  dealt  out  to  this 
new  writer,  who,  in  the  very  act  of  protesting  against 
criticism,  proclaimed  himself  a  critic.  But  Goldsmiths 
are  not  always  to  be  had  when  wanted  ;  while  Kcnricks 
can  be  bought  at  any  moment  for  a  guinea  or  two  a 
head. 

Goldsmith  had  not  chosen  literature  as  the  occupation 
of  his  life  ;  he  had  only  fallen  back  on  it  when  other 
projects  failed.  But  it  is  quite  possible  that  now,  as  he 
began  to  take  up  some  slight  position  as  an  author,  the 
old  ambition  of  distinguishing  himself — which  had  flick- 
cred  before  his  imagination  from  time  to  time — began  to 
enter  into  his  calculations  along  with  the  more  pressing 
business  of  earning  a  livelihood.  And  he  was  soon  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  appealing  to  a  wider  public  than 
could  have  been  expected  for  that  erudite  treatise  on  the 
arts  of  Europe.  Mr.  Wilkic,  a  bookseller  in  St.  Paul's 
Churchyard,  proposed  to  start  a  weekly  magazine,  price 


v.]       BEGINNING  OF  AUTHORSHIP.— THE  BEE.         3."i 

threepence,  to  contain  essays,  short  stories,  letters  on 
the  topics  of  the  day,  and  so  forth,  more  or  less  after 
the  manner  of  the  Spectator.  He  asked  Goldsmith  to 
become  sole  contributor.  Here,  indeed,  was  a  very  good 
opening  ;  for,  although  there  were  many  magazines  in 
the  field,  the  public  had  just  then  a  fancy  for  literature 
in  small  doses  ;  while  Goldsmith,  in  entering  into  the 
competition,  would  not  be  hampered  by  the  dulness  of 
collaborators.  He  closed  with  Wilkie's  offer  ;  and  on 
the  6th  of  October,  1759,  appeared  the  first  number  of 
the  Bee. 

For  us  now  there  is  a  curious  autobiographical  interest 
in  the  opening  sentences  of  the  first  number  ;  but  surely 
even  the  public  of  the  day  must  have  imagined  that  the 
new  writer  who  was  now  addressing  them  was  not  to  be 
confounded  with  the  common  herd  of  magazine-hacks. 
What  could  be  more  delightful  than  this  odd  mixture  of 
modesty,  humor,  and  an  anxious  desire  to  please  ? — ■ 
"  There  is  not,  perhaps,  a  more  whimsically  dismal  figure 
in  nature  than  a  man  of  real  modesty,  who  assumes  an  air 
of  impudence — who,  while  his  heart  beats  with  anxiety, 
studies  ease  and  affects  good-humor.  In  this  situation, 
however,  a  periodical  writer  often  finds  himself  upon  his 
first  attempt  to  address  the  public  in  form.  All  his 
power  of  pleasing  is  damped  by  solicitude,  and  his  cheer- 
fulness dashed  with  apprehension.  Impressed  with  the 
terrors  of  the  tribunal  before  which  he  is  going  to  ap- 
pear, his  natural  humor  turns  to  pertness,  and  for  real  wit 
he  is  obliged  to  substitute  vivacity.  His  first  publication 
draws  a  crowd  ;  they  part  dissatisfied  ;  and  the  author, 
never  more  to  be  indulged  with  a  favorable  hearing,  is 
left  to  condemn  the  indelicacy  of  his  own  address  or 
their  want  of  discernment.     For  my  part,  as  I  was  never 


36  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

distinguished  for  address,  and  have  often  even  blundered 
in  making  my  bow,  such  bodings  as  these  bad  like  to 
have  totally  repressed  my  ambition.  I  was  at  a  loss 
whether  to  give  the  public  specious  promises,  or  give 
none  ;  whether  to  be  merry  or  sad  on  this  solemn  occa- 
sion. If  I  should  decline  all  merit,  it  was  too  probable 
the  hasty  reader  might  have  taken  me  at  my  word.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  like  laborers  in  the  magazine  trade,  I 
had,  with  modest  impudence,  humbly  presumed  to  prom- 
ise  an  epitome  of  all  the  good  tilings  that  ever  were  said 
or  written,  this  might  have  disgusted  those  readers  I  most 
desire  to  please.  Had  I  been  merry,  I  might  have  been 
censured  as  vastly  low  ;  and  had  I  been  sorrowful,  I 
might  have  been  left  to  mourn  in  solitude  and  silence  ; 
in  short,  whichever  way  I  turned,  nothing  presented  but 
prospects  of  terror,  despair,  chandlers'  shops,  and  waste 
paper. ' ' 

And  it  is  just  possible  that  if  Goldsmith  had  kept  to 
this  vein  of  familiar  causerie,  the  public  might  in  time 
have  been  attracted  by  its  quaintness.  But  no  doubt  Mr. 
Wilkie  would  have  stared  aghast ;  and  so  we  find  Gold- 
smith, as  soon  as  his  introductory  bow  is  made,  setting 
seriously  about  the  business  of  magazine-making.  Very 
soon,  however,  both  Mr.  Wilkie  and  his  editor  perceived 
that  the  public  had  not  been  taken  by  their  venture. 
The  chief  cause  of  the  failure,  as  it  appears  to  any  one 
who  looks  over  the  magazine  now,  would  seem  to  be  the 
lack  of  any  definite  purpose.  There  was  no  marked  feat- 
ure to  arrest  public  attention,  while  many  things  were 
discarded  on  which  the  popularity  of  other  periodicals 
had  been  based.  There  was  no  scandal  to  appeal  to  the 
key-hole  and  back-door  element  in  human  nature  ;  there 
were  no  libels  and  gross  personalities  to  delight  the  mean 


vi.J     BEGINNING  OF  AUTHORSHIP.— THE  BEE.  37 

and  envious  ;  there  were  no  fine  airs  of  fashion  to  charm 
milliners  anxious  to  know  how  the  great  talked,  and 
posed,  and  dressed  ;  and  tbere  was  no  solemn  and  pomp- 
ous erudition  to  impress  the  minds  of  those  serious  and 
sensible  people  who  buy  literature  as  they  buy  butter — by 
its  weight.  At  the  beginning  of  No.  IV.  he  admits  that 
the  new  magazine  has  not  been  a  success,  and,  in  doing 
so,  returns  to  that  vein  of  whimsical,  personal  humor 
with  which  he  had  started  :  "  Were  I  to  measure  the 
merit  of  my  present  undertaking  by  its  success  or  the 
rapidity  of  its  sale,  I  might  be  led  to  form  conclusions  by 
no  means  favorable  to  the  pride  of  an  author.  Should  I 
estimate  my  fame  by  its  extent,  every  newspaper  and 
magazine  would  leave  me  far  behind.  Their  fame  is  dif- 
fused in  a  very  wide  circle — that  of  some  as  far  as  Isling- 
ton, and  some  yet  farther  still  ;  while  mine,  I  sincerely 
believe,  has  hardly  travelled  beyond  the  sound  of  Bow 
Bell  ;  and,  while  the  works  of  others  rly  like  unpinioned 
swans,  I  find  my  own  move  as  heavily  as  a  new-plucked 
goose.  Still,  however,  I  have  as  much  pride  as  they 
who  have  ten  times  as  many  readers.  It  is  impossible  to 
repeat  all  the  agreeable  delusions  in  which  a  disappointed 
author  is  apt  to  find  comfort.  I  conclude,  that  what  my 
reputation  wants  in  extent  is  made  up  by  its  solidity. 
Minus  juvat  gloria  lata  quam  magna.  I  have  great  sat- 
isfaction in  considering  the  delicacy  and  discernment  of 
those  readers  I  have,  and  in  asci'ibing  my  want  of  popu- 
larity to  the  ignorance  or  inattention  of  those  I  have  not. 
All  the  world  may  forsake  an  author,  but  vanity  will 
never  forsake  him.  Yet,  notwithstanding  so  sincere  a 
confession,  I  was  once  induced  to  show  my  indignation 
against  the  public  by  discontinuing  my  endeavors  to 
please  ;  and  was  bravely  resolved,   like  Raleigh,  to  vex 


57280 


38  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

them  by  burning  my  manuscript  in  a  passion.  Upon 
recollection,  however,  I  considered  what  set  or  body  of 
people  would  be  displeased  at  my  rashness.  The  sun, 
after  so  sad  an  accident,  might  shine  next  morning  as 
bright  as  usual  ;  men  might  laugh  and  sing  the  next  day 
and  transact  business  as  before,  and  nut  a  single  creature 
feel  any  regret  but  myself. ' ' 

Goldsmith  was  certainly  more  at  home  in  this  sort  of 
writing  than  in  gravely  lecturing  people  against  the  vice 
of  gambling  ;  in  warning  tradesmen  bow  ill  it  became 
them  to  be  seen  at  races  ;  in  demonstrating  that  justice  is 
a  higher  virtue  than  generosity  ;  and  in  proving  that  the 
avaricious  are  the  true  benefactors  of  society.  But  even 
as  he  confesses  the  failure  of  his  new  magazine,  lie  seems 
determined  to  show  the  public  what  sort  of  writer  this  is, 
whom  as  yet  they  have  not  regarded  too  favorably.  It  is 
in  No.  IV.  of  the  Bee  that  the  famous  City  Night  Piece 
occurs.  No  doubt  that  strange  little  fragment  of  de- 
scription  was  the  result  of  some  sudden  and  aimless 
fancy,  striking  the  occupant  of  the  lonely  garret  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  The  present  tense,  which  he  sel- 
dom used — and  the  abuse  of  which  is  one  of  the  detesta- 
ble vices  of  modern  literature — adds  to  the  mysterious 
solemnity  of  the  recital  : 

"  The  clock  has  just  struck  two,  the  expiring  taper 
rises  and  sinks  in  the  socket,  the  watchman  forgets  the 
hour  in  slumber,  the  laborious  and  the  happy  are  at  rest, 
and  nothing  wakes  but  meditation,  guilt,  revelry,  and 
despair.  The  drunkard  once  more  fills  the  destroying 
bowl,  the  robber  walks  his  midnight  round,  and  the  sui- 
cide lifts  his  guilty  arm  against  his  own  sacred  person. 

"  Let  me  no  longer  waste  the  night  over  the  page  of 
antiquity  or  the  sallies  of  contemporary  genius,  but  pursue 


v.]       BEGINNING  OP  AUTHORSHIP.— THE  BEE.         39 

the  solitary  walk,  where  Vanity,  ever  changing,  but  a 
few  hours  past  walked  before  me — where  she  kept  up  the 
pageant,  and  now,  like  a  froward  child,  seems  hushed 
with  her  own  importunities. 

"  What  a  gloom  hangs  all  around  1  The  dying  lamp 
feebly  emits  a  yellow  gleam  ;  no  sound  is  heard  but  of 
the  chiming  clock  or  the  distant  watch-dog.  All  the 
bustle  of  human  pride  is  forgotten  ;  an  hour  like  this 
may  well  display  the  emptiness  of  human  vanity. 

"  There  will  come  a  time  when  this  temporary  soli- 
tude may  be  made  continual,  and  the  city  itself,  like  its 
inhabitants,  fade  away,  and  leave  a  desert  in  its  room. 

"  What  cities,  as  great  as  this,  have  once  triumphed  in 
existence,  had  their  victories  as  great,  joy  as  just  and  as 
unbounded  ;  and,  with  short-sighted  presumption,  prom- 
ised themselves  immortality  !  Posterity  can  hardly  trace 
the  situation  of  some  ;  the  sorrowful  traveller  wanders 
over  the  awful  ruins  of  others  ;  and,  as  he  beholds,  he 
learns  wisdom,  and  feels  the  transience  of  every  sublu- 
nary possession. 

"  '  Here,'  he  cries,  '  stood  their  citadel,  now  grown 
over  with  weeds  ;  there  their  senate-house,  but  now  the 
haunt  of  every  noxious  reptile  ;  temples  and  theatres 
stood  here,  now  only  an  undistinguished  heap  of  ruin. 
They  are  fallen,  for  luxury  and  avarice  first  made  them 
feeble.  The  rewards  of  the  state  were  conferred  on 
amusing,  and  not  on  useful,  members  of  society.  Their 
riche-  and  opulence  invited  the  invaders,  who,  though  at 
first  repulsed,  returned  again,  conquered  by  persever- 
ance, and  at  last  swept  the  defendants  into  undistin- 
guished destruction.'  " 


CHAPTER   VI. 

PERSONAL    TRAITS. 

The  foregoing  extracts  will  sufficiently  show  what 
were  the  chief  characteristics  of  Goldsmith's  writing  at 
this  time — the  grace  and  ease  of  style,  a  gentle  and  some- 
times pathetic  thoughtfulness,  and,  above  all,  when  he 
speaks  in  the  first  person,  a  delightful  vein  of  humorous 
self-disclosure.  Moreover,  these  qualities,  if  they  were 
not  immediately  profitable  to  the  booksellers,  were  begin- 
ning to  gain  for  him  the  recognition  of  some  of  the  well- 
known  men  of  the  day.  Percy,  afterwards  Bishop  of 
Dromore,  had  made  his  way  to  the  miserable  garret  of 
the  poor  author.  Smollett,  whose  novels  Goldsmith  pre- 
ferred to  his  History,  was  anxious  to  secure  his  services 
as  a  contributor  to  the  forthcoming  British  Magazine. 
Burke  had  spoken  of  the  pleasure  given  him  by  Gold- 
smith's review  of  the  Enquiry  into  the  Origin  of  our 
Ideas  of  the  Sublime  and  Beautiful.  But,  to  crown  all, 
the  great  Cham  himself  sought  out  this  obscure  author, 
who  had  on  several  occasions  spoken  with  reverence  and 
admiration  of  his  works  ;  and  so  began  what  is  perhaps 
the  most  interesting  literary  friendship  on  record.  At 
what  precise  date  Johnson  first  made  Goldsmith's  ac- 
quaintance is  not  known  ;  Mr.  Forster  is  right  in  assum- 
in;:  that  they  had   met  before  the  supper  in  Wine-Office 


Vi.]  PERSONAL  TRAITS.  41 

Court,  at  which  Mr.  Percy  was  present.  It  is  a  thousand 
pities  that  Boswell  had  not  by  this  time  made  his  ap- 
pearance in  London.  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  and  all  the 
rest  of  them  are  only  ghosts  until  the  pertinacious  young 
laird  of  Auchinleck  comes  on  the  scene  to  give  them 
color,  and  life,  and  form.  It  is  odd  enough  that  the 
very  first  remarks  of  Goldsmith's  which  Boswell  jotted 
down  in  his  note-book  should  refer  to  Johnson's  sys- 
tematic kindness  towards  the  poor  and  wretched.  "  He 
had  increased  my  admiration  of  the  goodness  of  John- 
son's heart  by  incidental  remarks  in  the  course  of  con- 
versation, such  as,  when  I  mentioned  Mr.  Levett,  whom 
he  entertained  under  his  roof,  '  He  is  poor  and  honest, 
which  is  recommendation  enough  to  Johnson  ;'  and 
when  I  wondered  that  he  was  very  kind  to  a  man  of 
whom  I  had  heard  a  very  bad  character,  '  He  is  now  be- 
come miserable,  and  that  insures  the  protection  of  John 
son.'  " 

For  the  rest,  Boswell  was  not  well-disposed  towards 
Goldsmith,  whom  he  regarded  with  a  jealousy  equal  to 
his  admiration  of  Johnson  ;  but  it  is  probable  that  his 
description  of  the  personal  appearance  of  the  awkward 
and  ungainly  Irishman  is  in  the  main  correct.  And  here 
also  it  may  be  said  that  Boswell 's  love  of  truth  and  accu- 
racy compelled  him  to  make  this  admission  :  "It  has 
been  generally  circulated  and  believed  that  he  (Gold- 
smith) was  a  mere  fool  in  conversation  ;  but,  in  truth, 
this  has  been  greatly  exaggerated."  On  this  exaggera- 
tion— seeing  that  the  contributor  to  the  British  Magazine 
and  the  Public  Ledger  was  now  becoming  better  known 
among  his  fellow-authors — a  word  or  two  may  fitly  be 
said  here.  It  pleased  Goldsmith's  contemporaries,  who 
were  not  all  of  them  celebrated  for  their  ready  wit,  to  re- 
D  3  17 


42  GOLDSMITH.  [citap. 

gard  him  as  a  hopeless  and  incurable  fool,  who  by  some 
strange  chance  could  produce  literature,  the  merits  of 
which  he  could  not  himself  understand.  To  Horace 
-Walpole  we  owe  the  phrase  which  describes  Goldsmith 
as  an  "  inspired  idiot."  Innumerable  stories  are  told  of 
Goldsmith's  blunders  ;  of  his  forced  attempts  to  shine 
in  conversation  ;  of  poor  Poll  talking  nonsense,  when  all 
the  world  was  wondering  at  the  beauty  of  his  writing, 
In  one  case  we  are  told  he  was  content  to  admit,  when 
dictated  to,  that  this,  and  not  that,  was  what  he  really 
had  meant  in  a  particular  phrase.  Now  there  can  be  no 
question  that  Goldsmith,  conscious  of  his  pitted  face,  his 
brogue,  and  his  ungainly  figure,  was  exceedingly  nervous 
and  sensitive  in  society,  and  was  anxious,  as  such  people 
mostly  are,  to  cover  his  shyness  by  an  appearance  of 
ease,  if  not  even  of  swagger  ;  and  there  can  be  as  little 
question  that  he  occasionally  did  and  said  very  awkward 
and  blundering  things.  But  our  Japanese  friend,  whom 
we  mentioned  in  our  opening  pages,  looking  through  the 
record  that  is  preserved  to  us  of  those  blunders  which 
are  supposed  to  be  most  conclusive  as  to  this  aspect  of 
Goldsmith's  character,  would  certainly  stare.  "  Good 
heavens,"  he  would  cry,  "  did  men  ever  live  who  were 
so  thick-headed  as  not  to  see  the  humor  of  this  or  that 
'  blunder  ;'  or  were  they  so  beset  with  the  notion  that 
Goldsmith  was  only  a  fool,  that  they  must  needs  be 
blind?"  Take  one  well-known  instance.  He  goes  to 
France  with  Mrs.  Horneck  and  her  two  daughters,  the 
latter  very  handsome  young  ladies.  At  Lille  the  two 
girls  and  Goldsmith  are  standing  at  the  window  of  tho 
hotel,  overlooking  the  square  in  which  are  some  sol- 
diers ;  and  naturally  the  beautiful  young  English-women 
attract    some    attention.       Thereupon     Goldsmith  turns 


Ti.J  PERSONAL  TRAITS.  43 

indignantly  away,  remarking  that  elsewhere  he  also  has 
his  admirers.  Now  what  surgical  instrument  was  needed 
to  get  this  harmless  little  joke  into  any  sane  person's 
head  ?  Boswell  may  perhaps  be  pardoned  for  pre- 
tending to  take  the  incident  au  serieux  ;  for  as  has  just 
been  said,  in  his  profound  adoration  of  Johnson,  he  was 
devoured  by  jealousy  of  Goldsmith  ;  but  that  any  other 
mortal  should  have  failed  to  see  what  was  meant  by  this 
little  bit  of  humorous  flattery  is  almost  incredible.  No 
wonder  that  one  of  the  sisters  afterwards  referring  to 
this  "  playful  jest,"  should  have  expressed  her  astonish- 
ment at  finding  it  put  down  as  a  proof  of  Goldsmith's 
envious  disposition.  But  even  after  that  disclaimer,  we 
find  Mr.  Croker,  as  quoted  by  Mr.  Forster,  solemnly 
doubting  "  whether  the  vexation  so  seriously  exhibited  by 
Goldsmith  was  real  or  assumed  "  ! 

Of  course  this  is  an  extreme  case  ;  but  there  are 
others  very  similar.  "  He  affected,"  says  Hawkins, 
"  Johnson's  style  and  manner  of  conversation,  and  when 
he  had  uttered,  as  he  often  would,  a  labored  sentence,  so 
tumid  as  to  be  scarce  intelligible,  would  ask  if  that 
was  not  truly  Johnsonian  ?"  Is  it  not  truly  dismal  to 
find  such  an  utterance  coming  from  a  presumably  reason- 
able human  being  ?  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that 
Goldsmith  grew  shy — and  in  some  cases  had  to  ward 
off  the  acquaintance  of  certain  of  his  neighbors  as  being 
too  intrusive — if  he  ran  the  risk  of  having  his  odd  and 
grave  humors  so  densely  mistranslated.  The  fact  is 
this,  that  Goldsmith  was  possessed  of  a  very  subtle 
quality  of  humor,  which  is  at  all  times  rare,  but  which 
is  perhaps  more  frequently  to  be  found  in  Irishmen  than 
among  other  folks.  It  consists  in  the  satire  of  the  pre- 
tence and  pomposities  of  others  by  meaus  of  a  sort  of 


44  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

exaggerated  and  playful  self-depreciation.  It  is  a  most 
delicate  and  most  delightful  form  of  humor  ;  but  it  is 
very  apt  to  be  misconstrued  by  the  dull.  Who  can 
doubt  that  Goldsmith  was  good-naturedly  laughing  at 
himself,  his  own  plain  face,  his  vanity,  and  his  blunders, 
when  he  professed  to  be  jealous  of  the  admiration  excited 
by  the  Miss  Hornecks  ;  when  he  gravely  drew  attention 
to  the  splendid  colors  of  his  coat  ;  or  when  he  no  less 
gravely  informed  a  company  of  his  friends  that  he  had 
heard  a  very  good  story,  but  would  not  repeat  it,  because 
they  would  be  sure  to  miss  the  point  of  it  ? 

This  vein  of  playful  and  sarcastic  self-depreciation  is 
continually  cropping  up  in  his  essay-writing,  as,  for  ex- 
ample, in  the  passage  already  quoted  from  No.  IV.  of 
the  Bee :  "  I  conclude  that  what  my  reputation  wants  in 
extent  is  made  up  by  its  solidity.  Minus  juvat  gloria 
lata  quam  magna.  I  have  great  satisfaction  in  con- 
sidering the  delicacy  and  discernment  of  those  readers 
I  have,  and  in  ascribing  my  want  of  popularity  to  the 
ignorance  or  inattention  of  those  I  have  not."  But 
here,  no  doubt,  he  remembers  that  he  is  addressing 
the  world  at  large,  which  contains  many  foolish  per- 
sons ;  and  so,  that  the  delicate  raillery  may  not  be 
mistaken,  he  immediately  adds,  "  All  the  world 
may  forsake  an  author,  but  vanity  will  never  forsake 
him."  That  he  expected  a  quicker  apprehension  on  the 
part  of  his  intimates  and  acquaintances,  and  that  he 
was  frequently  disappointed,  seems  pretty  clear  from 
those  very  stories  of  his  "  blunders."  We  may  reason- 
ably suspect,  at  all  events,  that  Goldsmith  was  not  quite 
so  much  of  a  fool  as  he  looked  ;  and  it  is  far  from  im- 
probable that  when  the  ungainly  Irishman  was  called  in 
to  make  sport  for  the  Philistines — and  there  were  a  good 


vi]  PERSONAL  TRAITS. 


45 


many  Philistines  in  those  days,  if  all  stories  be  true— and 
when  they  imagined  they  had  put  him  out  of  counte- 
nance, he  was  really  standing  aghast,  and  wondering  how 
it  could  have  pleased  Providence  to  create  such  helpless 
stupidity. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE    CITIZEN    OF   THE    WORLD. BEAU    NASH. 

Meanwhile,  to  return  to  his  literary  work,  the  Citi- 
zen of  the  World  had  grown  out  of  his  contributions  to 
the  Public  Ledger,  a  daily  newspaper  started  by  Mr. 
Newbery,  another  bookseller  in  St.  Paul's  Churchyard. 
Goldsmith  was  engaged  to  write  for  this  paper  two  letters 
a  week  at  a  guinea  a-picce  ;  and  these  letters  were,  after 
a  short  time  (1760),  written  in  the  character  of  a  Chinese 
who  had  come  to  study  European  civilization.  It  may 
be  noted  that  Goldsmith  had  in  the  Monthly  Review,  in 
mentioning  Voltaire's  memoirs  of  French  writers,  quoted 
a  passage  about  Montesquieu's  Let  (res  Pcrsanes  as  fol- 
lows :  "  It  is  written  in  imitation  of  the  Siamese  Letters 
of  Du  Frcny  and  of  the  Turkish  Spy  ;  but  it  is  an  imi- 
tation which  shows  what  the  originals  should  have  been. 
The  success  their  works  met  with  was,  for  the  most  part, 
owing  to  the  foreign  air  of  their  performances  ;  the  suc- 
cess of  the  Persian  Letters  arose  from  the  delicacy  of 
their  satire.  That  satire  which  in  the  mouth  of  an 
Asiatic  is  poignant,  would  lose  all  its  force  when  coming 
from  an  European."  And  it  must  certainly  be  said  that 
the  charm  of  the  strictures  of  the  Citizen  of  the  World 
lies  wholly  in  their  delicate  satire,  and  not  at  all  in  any 
foreign  air  which  the  author  may  have  tried  to  lend  to 


vn.J  THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASH.      47 

these  performances.  The  disguise  is  very  apparent.  Tn 
those  garrulous,  vivacious,  whimsical,  and  sometimes  seri- 
ous papers,  Lien  Chi  Altangi,  writing  to  Fum  Hoam  in 
Pekin,  does  not  so  much  describe  the  aspects  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  which  would  naturally  surprise  a  Chi- 
nese, as  he  expresses  the  dissatisfaction  of  a  European 
with  certain  phases  of  the  civilization  visible  everywhere 
around  him.  It  is  not  a  Chinaman,  but  a  Fleet-street 
author  by  profession,  who  resents  the  competition  of 
noble  amateurs  whose  works  otherwise  bitter  pills 
enough — are  gilded  by  their  titles  :  "  A  nobleman  has 
but  to  take  a  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  write  away  through 
three  large  volumes,  and  then  sign  his  name  to  the  title- 
page  ;  though  the  whole  might  have  been  before  more 
disgusting  than  his  own  rent-roll,  yet  signing  his  name 
and  title  gi  res  value  to  the  deed,  title  being  alone  equiv- 
alent to  taste,  imagination,  and  genius.''  As  soon  as  a 
piece,  therefore,  is  published,  the  first  questions  arc  : 
Who  is  the  author  ?  Does  he  keep  a  coach  ?  "Where 
lies  his  estate  ?  What  sort  of  a  table  does  he  keep  ?  If 
he  happens  to  be  poor  and  unqualified  for  such  a  scru- 
tiny, he  and  his  works  sink  into  irremediable  obscurity, 
and  too  late  he  finds,  that  having  fed  upon  turtle  is  a 
more  ready  way  to  fame  than  having  digested  Tully. 
The  poor  devil  against  whom  fashion  has  set  its  face 
vainly  alleges  that  he  has  been  bred  in  every  part  of 
Europe  where  knowledge  was  to  be  sold  ;  that  he  has 
grown  pale  in  the  study  of  nature  and  himself.  His 
works  may  please  upon  the  perusal,  but  his  pretensions 
to  fame  are  entirely  disregarded.  He  is  treated  like  a 
fiddler,  whose  music,  though  liked,  is  not  much  praised, 
because  he  lives  by  it  ;  while  a  gentleman  performer, 
though  the  most  wretched  scraper  alive,  throws  the  audi- 


48  GOLDSMITH.  chap. 

ence  into  raptures.  The  fiddler,  indeed,  may  in  such  a 
case  console  himself  by  thinking,  that  while  the  other 
goes  off  with  all  the  praise,  he  runs  away  with  all  the 
money.  But  here  the  parallel  drops  ;  for  while  the 
nobleman  triumphs  in  unmerited  applause,  the  author  by 
profession  steals  off  with — nothing. ' ' 

At  the  same  time  it  must  be  allowed  that  the  utterance 
of  these  strictures  through  the  mouth  of  a  Chinese  admits 
of  a  certain  naivete,  which  on  occasion  heightens  the  sar- 
casm.    Lien  Chi  accompanies  the   Man    in   Black  to  a 
theatre  to  see  an  English  play.     Here  is  part  of  the  per- 
formance :  "  I  was  going  to  second  his  remarks,  when 
my  attention  was  engrossed  by  a  new  object  ;    a  man 
came  in  balancing  a  straw  upon  his  nose,  and  the  audience 
were  clapping  their  hands  in  all  the  raptures  of  applause. 
'  To  what  purpose, '  cried  I,  '  does  this  unmeaning  figure 
make  his  appearance  ?  is  he  a  part  of  the  plot  ? ' — '  Un- 
meaning do  you  call  him  ?  '   replied  my  friend  in  black  ; 
'  this   is   one    of   the   most   important  characters  of  the 
whole  play  ;  nothing  pleases  the  people  more  than  seeing 
a  straw  balanced  :  there  is  a  great  deal  of  meaning  in  a 
straw  :  there  is  something  suited  to  every  apprehension 
in  the  sight  ;  and  a  fellow  possessed  of  talents  like  these 
is  sure  of  making  his  fortune. '     The  third  act  now  began 
with  an  actor  who  came  to  inform  us  that  he  was  the 
villain  of  the  play,  and  intended  to  show  strange  things 
before   all    was   over.      He   was  joined  by  another  who 
seemed  as  much  disposed  for  mischief  as  he  ;  their  in- 
trigues continued  through  this  whole   division.      '  If  that 
be  a  villain,'  said  I,  '  he  must  be  a  very  stupid  one  to  tell 
his  secrets  without  being  asked  ;  such  soliloquies  of  late 
are  never  admitted  in  China.'     The  noise  of  clapping  in- 
terrupted me  once  more  ;  a  child  six  years  old  was  learn- 


vn.]  THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASH.       49 

ing  to  dance  on  the  stage,  which  gave  the  ladies  and 
mandarins  infinite  satisfaction.  '  I  am  sorry,'  said  I,  l  to 
see  the  pretty  creature  so  early  learning  so  bad  a  trade  ; 
dancing  being,  I  presume,  as  contemptible  here  as  in 
China.'  —  '  Quite  the  reverse,'  interrupted  my  com- 
panion ;  '  dancing  is  a  very  reputable  and  genteel  em- 
ployment here  ;  men  have  a  greater  chance  for  encour- 
agement from  the  merit  of  their  heels  than  their  heads. 
One  who  jumps  up  and  flourishes  Iris  toes  three  times  be- 
fore he  comes  to  the  ground  may  have  three  hundred  a 
year  ;  he  who  flourishes  them  four  times  gets  four  hun- 
dred ;  but  he  who  arrives  at  five  is  inestimable,  and  may 
demand  what  salary  he  thinks  proper.  The  female  dan- 
cers, too,  are  valued  for  this  sort  of  jumping  and  cross- 
ing ;  and  it  is  a  cant  word  amongst  them,  that  she  de- 
serves most  who  shows  highest.  But  the  fourth  act  is 
begun  ;  let  us  be  attentive.'  " 

The  Man  in  Black  here  mentioned  is  one  of  the  not- 
able features  of  this  series  of  papers.  The  mysterious 
person  whose  acquaintance  the  Chinaman  made  in  West- 
minster Abbey,  and  who  concealed  such  a  wonderful 
goodness  of  heart  under  a  rough  and  forbidding  exterior, 
is  a  charming  character  indeed  ;  and  it  is  impossible  to 
praise  too  highly  the  vein  of  subtle  sarcasm  in  which  he 
preaches  worldly  wisdom.  But  to  assume  that  any  part 
of  his  history  which  he  disclosed  to  the  Chinaman  was  a 
piece  of  autobiographical  writing  on  the  part  of  Gold- 
smith, is  a  very  hazardous  thing.  A  writer  of  fiction 
must  necessarily  use  such  materials  as  have  come  within 
his  own  experience  ;  and  Goldsmith's  experience — or  his 
use  of  those  materials — was  extremely  limited  :  witness 
how  often  a  pet  fancy,  like  his  remembrance  of  Johnny 
Armstrong' 's  Last  Good  Night,  is  repeated.  "  That  of 
3* 


50  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

these  simple  elements,"  writes  Professor  Masson,  in  his 
Memoir  of  Goldsmith,  prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his  works, 
"  he  made  so  many  charming  combinations,  really  differ- 
ing from  each  other,  and  all,  though  suggested  by  fact, 
yet  hung  so  sweetly  in  an  ideal  air,  proved  what  an  artist 
he  was,  and  was  better  than  much  that  is  commonly 
called  invention.  In  short,  if  there  is  a  sameness  of 
effect  in  Goldsmith's  writings,  it  is  because  they  consist 
of  poetry  and  truth,  humor  and  pathos,  from  his  own 
life,  and  the  supply  from  such  a  life  as  his  was  not  inex- 
haustible. ' ' 

The  question  of  invention  is  easily  disposed  of.  Any 
child  can  invent  a  world  transcending  human  experience 
by  the  simple  combination  of  ideas  which  are  in  them- 
selves incongruous — a  world  in  which  the  horses  have 
each  five  feet,  in  which  the  grass  is  blue  and  the  sky 
green,  in  which  seas  are  balanced  on  the  peaks  of  moun- 
tains. The  result  is  unbelievable  and  worthless.  But 
the  writer  of  imaginative  literature  uses  his  own  experi- 
ences and  the  experiences  of  others,  so  that  his  combina- 
tion of  ideas  in  themselves  compatible  shall  appear  so 
natural  and  believable  that  the  reader  —  although  these 
incidents  and  characters  never  did  actually  exist — is  as 
much  interested  in  them  as  if  they  had  existed.  The 
mischief  of  it  is  that  the  reader  sometimes  thinks  himself 
very  clever,  and,  recognizing  a  little  bit  of  the  story  as 
having  happened  to  the  author,  jumps  to  the  conclusion 
that  such  and  such  a  passage  is  necessarily  autobiographi- 
cal. Hence  it  is  that  Goldsmith  has  been  hastily  identi- 
fied with  the  Philosophic  Vagabond  in  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield,  and  with  the  Man  in  Black  in  the  Citizen  of 
the  World.  That  he  may  have  used  certain  experiences 
in  the  one,  and  that  he  may  perhaps  have  given  in  the 


vii.]  THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD— BEAU  NASH.      51 

other  a  sort  of  fancy  sketch  of  a  person  suggested  by 
some  trait  in  his  own  character,  is  possible  enough  ;  but 
further  assertion  of  likeness  is  impossible.  That  the  Man 
in  Black  had  one  of  Goldsmith's  little  weaknesses  is  obvi- 
ous enough  :  we  find  him  just  a  trifle  too  conscious  of  his 
own  kindliness  and  generosity.  The  Vicar  of  Wakefield 
himself  is  not  without  a  spice  of  this  amiable  vanity.  As 
for  Goldsmith,  every  one  must  remember  his  reply  to 
Griffiths'  accusation  :  "  No,  sir,  had  I  been  a  sharper, 
had  I  been  possessed  of  less  good-nature  and  native  gener- 
osity, I  might  surely  now  have  been  in  better  circum- 
stances. ' ' 

The  Man  in  Black,  in  any  case,  is  a  delightful  char- 
acter. We  detect  the  warm  and  generous  nature  even 
in  his  pretence  of  having  acquired  worldly  wisdom  : 
"  I  now  therefore  pursued  a  course  of  uninterrupted  fru- 
gality, seldom  wanted  a  dinner,  and  was  consequently  in- 
vited to  twenty.  I  soon  began  to  get  the  character  of  a 
saving  hunks  that  had  money,  and  insensibly  grew  into 
esteem.  Neighbors  have  asked  my  advice  in  the  disposal 
of  their  daughters  ;  and  I  have  always  taken  care  not  to 
give  any.  I  have  contracted  a  friendship  with  an  alder- 
man, only  by  observing,  that  if  we  take  a  farthing  from  a 
thousand  pounds  it  will  be  a  thousand  pounds  no  longer. 
I  have  been  invited  to  a  pawnbroker's  table,  by  pretend- 
ing to  hate  gravy  ;  and  am  now  actually  upon  treaty  of 
marriage  with  a  rich  widow,  for  only  having  observed 
that  the  bread  was  rising.  If  ever  I  am  asked  a  ques- 
tion, whether  I  know  it  or  not,  instead  of  answering,  I 
only  smile  and  look  wise.  If  a  charity  is  proposed,  I  go 
about  with  the  hat,  but  put  nothing  in  myself.  If  a 
wretch  solicits  my  pity,  I  observe  that  the  world  is  filled 
with  impostors,  and  take  a  certain  method  of  not  being 


53  GOLDSMITH.  [chap 

deceived  by  never  relieving.  In  short,  I  now  find  the 
truest  way  of  finding  esteem,  even  from  the  indigent,  is 
to  give  away  nothing,  and  thus  have  much  in  our  power 
to  give."  This  is  a  very  clever  piece  of  writing, 
whether  it  is  in  strict  accordance  with  the  character  of 
the  Man  in  Black  or  not.  But  there  is  in  these  Public 
Ledger  papers  another  sketch  of  character,  which  is  not 
only  consistent  in  itself,  and  in  every  way  admirable,  but 
is  of  still  further  interest  to  us  when  we  remember  that  at 
this  time  the  various  personages  in  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field were  no  doubt  gradually  assuming  definite  form  in 
Goldsmith's  mind.  It  is  in  the  figure  of  Mr.  Tibbs,  in- 
troduced apparently  at  haphazard,  but  at  once  taking  pos- 
session of  us  by  its  quaint  relief,  that  we  find  Goldsmith 
showing  a  firmer  hand  in  character-drawing.  With  a 
few  happy  dramatic  touches  Mr.  Tibbs  starts  into  life  ; 
he  speaks  for  himself  ;  he  becomes  one  of  the  people 
whom  we  know.  And  yet,  with  this  concise  and  sharp 
portraiture  of  a  human  being,  look  at  the  graceful,  almost 
garrulous,  case  of  the  style  : 

"  Our  pursuer  soon  came  up  and  joined  us  with  all  the 
familiarity  of  an  old  acquaintance.  '  My  dear  Dry  bone,' 
cries  he,  shaking  my  friend's  hand,  '  wrhere  have  you 
been  hiding  this  half  a  century  ?  Positively  I  had  fancied 
you  were  gone  to  cultivate  matrimony  and  your  estate  in 
the  country.'  During  the  reply  I  had  an  opportunity  of 
surveying  the  appearance  of  our  new  companion  :  his  hat 
was  pinched  up  with  peculiar  smartness  ;  his  looks  were 
pale,  thin,  and  sharp  ;  round  his  neck  he  wore  a  broad 
black  riband,  and  in  his  bosom  a  buckle  studded  with 
glass  ;  his  coat  was  trimmed  with  tarnished  twist  ;  he 
wore  by  his  side  a  sword  with  a  black  hilt  ;  and  his 
stockings  of  silk,  though  newly  washed,  were  grown  yel- 


» 


Vii.]  THE  CITIZEN  OF  '\yHE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASH.      53 

low  by  long  service.  I  was  so  much  engaged  with  the 
peculiarity  of  his  dress,  that  I  attended  only  to  the  latter 
part  of  my  friend's  reply,  in  which  he  complimented  Mr. 
Tibbs  on  the  taste  of  his  clothes  and  the  bloom  in  his 
countenance.  '  Pshaw,  pshaw,  Will,'  cried  the  figure, 
'  no  more  of  that,  if  you  love  me  :  you  know  I  hate  flat- 
tery— on  my  soul  I  do  ;  and  yet,  to  be  sure,  an  intimacy 
with  the  great  will  improve  one's  appearance,  and  a 
course  of  venison  will  fatten  ;  and  yet,  faith,  I  despise 
the  great  as  much  as  you  do  ;  but  there  are  a  great  many 
damn'd  honest  fellows  among  them,  and  we  must  not 
quarrel  with  one  half  because  the  other  wants  weeding. 
If  they  were  all  such  as  my  Lord  Mudler,  one  of  the 
most  good-natured  creatures  that  ever  squeezed  a  lemon, 
I  should  myself  be  among  the  number  of  their  admirers. 
I  was  yesterday  to  dine  at  the  Duchess  of  Piccadilly's. 
My  lord  was  there.  "Ned,"  says  he  to  me,  "Ned," 
says  he,  "  I'll  hold  gold  to  silver,  I  can  tell  you  where 
you  were  poaching  last  night."  "  Poaching,  my  lord  ?" 
says  I  ;  "  faith,  you  have  missed  already  ;  for  I  stayed  at 
home  and  let  the  girls  poach  for  me.  That's  my  way  : 
I  take  a  fine  woman  as  some  animals  do  their  prey — 
stand  still,  and,  swoop,  they  fall  into  my  mouth." 
'  Ah,  Tibbs,  thou  art  a  happy  fellow, '  cried  my  com- 
panion, with  looks  of  infinity  pity  ;  '  I  hope  your  fortune 
is  as  much  improved  as  your  understanding,  in  such  com- 
pany ?  '  '  Improved  ! '  replied  the  other  ;  '  you  shall 
know — Dut  let  it  go  no  farther — a  great  secret — five  hun- 
dred a  year  to  begin  with — my  lord's  word  of  honor  for 
it.  His  lordship  took  me  down  in  his  own  chariot  yes- 
terday, and  we  had  a  tete-a-tete  dinner  in  the  country, 
where  we  talked  of  nothing  else.'  '  I  fancy  you  forget, 
sir,'   cried  I  ;    '  you  told  us  but  this  moment  of   your 


54  GOLDSMITH,  [chap. 

dining  yesterday  in  town.'  '  Did  I  say  so  ? '  replied  he, 
coolly  ;  '  to  be  sure,  if  I  said  so,  it  was  so.  Dined  in 
town  !  egad,  now  I  do  remember,  I  did  dine  in  town  ; 
but  I  dined  in  the  country  too  ;  for  you  must  know,  my 
boys,  I  ate  two  dinners.  By  the  bye,  I  am  grown  as  nice 
as  the  devil  in  my  eating.  I'll  tell  you  a  pleasant  affair 
about  that  :  we  were  a  select  party  of  us  to  dine  at  Lady 
Grogram's — an  affected  piece,  but  let  it  go  no  farther — ■ 
a  secret.  Well,  there  happened  to  be  no  assafoetida  in 
the  sauce  to  a  turkey,  upon  which,  says  I,  I'll  hold  a 
thousand  guineas,  and  say  done,  first,  that — But,  dear 
Drybone,    you   are   an  honest  creature  ;    lend    me    lialf- 

a-crown  for  a  minute  or  two,  or  so,  just  till ;  but 

hearkee,  ask  me  for  it  the  next  time  we  meet,  or  it  may 
be  twenty  to  one  but  I  forget  to  pay  you.'  " 

Returning  from  these  performances  to  the  author  of 
them,  we  find  him  a  busy  man  of  letters,  becoming  more 
and  more  in  request  among  the  booksellers,  and  ob- 
taining recognition  among  his  fellow-writers.  He  bad 
moved  into  better  lodgings  in  Wine-Office  Court 
(17GO-2)  ;  and  it  was  here  that  he  entertained  at  supper, 
as  has  already  been  mentioned,  no  less  distinguished 
guests  than  Bishop,  then  Mr.,  Percy,  and  Dr.,  then  Mr., 
Johnson.  Every  one  has  heard  of  the  surprise  of  Percy, 
on  calling  for  Johnson,  to  find  the  great  Cham  dressed 
with  quite  unusual  smartness.  On  asking  the  cause  of 
this  "  singular  transformation,"  Johnson  replied,  "  Why, 
sir,  I  hear  tha'  Goldsmith,  who  is  a  very  great  sloven, 
justifies  his  disregard  of  cleanliness  and  decency  by  quot- 
ing my  practice  ;  and  I  am  desirous  this  night  to  show 
him  a  better  example."  That  Goldsmith  profited  by 
this  example — though  the  tailors  did  not — is  clear 
enough.     At  times,  indeed,   he  blossomed  out  into  the 


Vii.J  THE  CITIZEN  OP  THE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASH.      53 

splendors  of  a  dandy  ;  and  laughed  at  himself  for  doing 
so.  But  whether  he  was  in  gorgeous  or  in  mean  attire, 
he  remained  the  same  sort  of  happy-go-lucky  creature  ; 
working  hard  by  fits  and  starts  ;  continually  getting 
money  in  advance  from  the  booksellers  ;  enjoying  the 
present  hour  ;  and  apparently  happy  enough  when  not 
pressed  by  debt.  That  he  should  have  been  thus  pressed 
was  no  necessity  of  the  case  ;  at  all  events  we  need  not 
on  this  score  begin  now  to  abuse  the  booksellers  or  the 
public  of  that  day.  We  may  dismiss  once  for  all  the  oft- 
repeated  charges  of  ingratitude  and  neglect. 

When  Goldsmith  was  writing  those  letters  in  the  Pub- 
lic Ledger — with  "  pleasure  and  instruction  for  others," 
Mr.  Forster  says,  "  though  at  the  cost  of  suffering  to 
himself  ' ' — he  was  receiving  for  them  alone  what  would 
be  equivalent  in  our  day  to  £200  a  year.  No  man  can 
affirm  that  £200  a  year  is  not  amply  sufficient  for  all  the 
material  wants  of  life.  Of  course  there  are  fine  things  in 
the  world  that  that  amount  of  annual  wage  cannot  pur- 
chase. It  is  a  fine  thing  to  sit  on  the  deck  of  a  yacht  on 
a  summer's  day,  and  watch  the  far  islands  shining  over 
the  blue  ;  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  drive  four-in-hand  to  Ascot 
— if  you  can  do  it ;  it  is  a  fine  thing  to  cower  breathless 
behind  a  rock  and  find  a  splendid  stag  coming  slowly 
within  sure  range.  But  these  things  are  not  necessary  to 
human  happiness  :  it  is  possible  to  do  without  them  and 
yet  not  "  suffer."  Even  if  Goldsmith  had  given  half  of 
his  substance  away  to  the  poor,  there  was  enough  left  to 
cover  all  the  necessary  wants  of  a  human  being  ;  and  if 
he  chose  so  to  order  his  affairs  as  to  incur  the  suffering 
of  debt,  why  that  was  his  own  business,  about  which 
nothing  further  needs  be  said.  It  is  to  be  suspected,  in- 
deed, that  he  did  not   care  to  practise  those  excellent 


66  GOLDSMITH.  [cnAP 

maxims  of  prudence  and  frugality  which  he  frequently 
preached  ;  but  the  world  is  not  much  concerned  about 
that  now.  If  Goldsmith  had  received  ten  times  as  much 
money  as  the  booksellers  gave  him,  he  would  still  have 
died  in  debt.  And  it  is  just  possible  that  we  may  exag- 
gerate Goldsmith's  sensitiveness  on  this  score.  He  had 
had  a  life-long  familiarity  with  duns  and  borrowing  ;  and 
seemed  very  contented  when  the  exigency  of  the  hour 
was  tided  over.  An  angry  landlady  is  unpleasant,  and 
an  arrest  is  awkward  ;  but  in  comes  an  opportune  guinea, 
and  the  bottle  of  Madeira  is  opened  forthwith. 

In  these  rooms  in  Wine-Office  Court,  and  at  the  sug- 
gestion or  entreaty  of  Newbery,  Goldsmith  produced  a 
good  deal  of  miscellaneous  writing — pamphlets,   tracts, 
compilations,  and  what  not — of  a  more  or  less  market- 
able kind.     It  can  only  be  surmised  that  by  this  time  he 
may  have  formed  some  idea  of  producing  a  book  not 
solely  meant  for  the  market,  and  that  the  characters  iu 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  were  already  engaging  his  atten- 
tion ;  but  the  surmise  becomes  probable  enough  when  we 
remember   that  his   project   of    writing    the    Traveller, 
which   was   not   published  till  17G4,  had  been   formed 
as  far  back  as    1755,  while    he   was   wandering    aim- 
lessly about  Europe,    and  that  a  sketch  of    the  poem 
was    actually   forwarded  by    him    then   to   his    brother 
Henry  in  Ireland.     But  in  the  meantime  this  hack-work, 
and  the  habits  of  life  connected  with  it,  began  to  tell  on 
Goldsmith's  health  ;  and  so,  for  a  time,  he  left  London 
(1702),  and  went  to  Tunbridge  and  then  to  Bath.     It  is 
scarcely  possible  that  his  modest  fame  had  preceded  him 
to  the  latter  place  of  fashion  ;  but  it  may  be  that  the 
distinguished   folk  of  the  town  received   this  friend  of 
the  great  Dr.  Johnson  with  some  small  measure  ot  dis- 


vii.]  THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASH.      57 

tinction  ;  for  we  find  that  his  next  published  work,  The 
Life  of  Richard  Nash,  Esq.,  is  respectfully  dedicated  to 
the  Right  Worshipful  the  Mayor,  Recorder,  Aldermen, 
and  Common  Council  of  the  City  of  Bath.  The  Life  of 
the  recently  deceased  Master  of  Ceremonies  was  pub- 
lished anonymously  (17G2)  ;  but  it  was  generally  under- 
stood to  be  Goldsmith's  ;  and  indeed  the  secret  of  the 
authorship  is  revealed  in  every  successive  line.  Among 
the  minor  writings  of  Goldsmith  there  is  none  more  de- 
lightful  than  this  :  the  mock-heroic  gravity,  the  half- 
familiar  contemptuous  good-nature  with  which  he  com- 
poses this  Funeral  March  of  a  Marionette,  are  extremely 
whimsical  and  amusing.  And  then  what  an  admirable 
picture  we  get  of  fashionable  English  society  in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  eighteenth  century,  when  Bath  and  Nash 
were  alike  in  the  heyday  of  their  glory — the  fine  ladies 
with  their  snuff-boxes,  and  their  passion  for  play,  and 
their  extremely  effective  language  when  they  got  angry  ; 
young  bucks  come  to  flourish  away  their  money,  and 
gain  by  their  losses  the  sympathy  of  the  fair  ;  sharpers 
on  the  lookout  for  guineas,  and  adventurers  on  the  look- 
out for  weak-minded  heiresses  ;  duchesses  writing  letters 
in  the  most  doubtful  English,  and  chairmen  swearing  at 
any  one  who  dared  to  walk  home  on  foot  at  night. 

No  doubt  the  Life  of  Beau  Nash  was  a  bookseller's 
book  ;  and  it  was  made  as  attractive  as  possible  by  the 
recapitulation  of  all  sorts  of  romantic  stories  about  Miss 

S n,   and   Mr.    C e,    and  Captain  K g  ;  but 

throughout  we  find  the  historian  very  much  inclined  to 
laugh  at  his  hero,  and  only  refraining  now  and  again  in 
order  to  record  in  serious  language  traits  indicative  of  the 
real  goodness  of  disposition  of  that  fop  and  gambler. 
And  the  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen,  who  lived  in  that 
atmosphere  of  scandal,  and  intrigue,  and  gambling,  are 
E  18 


58  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

also  from  time  to  time  treated  to  a  little  decorous  and 
respectful  raillery.  Who  does  not  remember  the  famous 
laws  of  polite  breeding  written  out  by  Mr.  Nash — Gold- 
smith hints  that  neither  Mr.  Nash  nor  his  fair  correspond- 
ent at  Blenheim,  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough,  excelled 
in  English  composition — for  the  guidance  of  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  who  were  under  the  sway  of  the  King  of 
Bath  ?  "  But  were  we  to  give  laws  to  a  nursery,  we 
should  make  them  childish  laws,"  Goldsmith  writes 
gravely.  "  His  statutes,  though  stupid,  were  addressed 
to  fine  gentlemen  and  ladies,  and  were  probably  received 
with  sympathetic  approbation.  It  is  certain  they  were  in 
general  religiously  observed  by  his  subjects,  and  executed 
by  him  with  impartiality  ;  neither  rank  nor  fortune 
shielded  the  refractory  from  his  resentment."  Nash, 
however,  was  not  content  with  prose  in  enforcing  good 
manners.  Having  waged  deadly  war  against  the  custom 
of  wearing  boots,  and  having  found  his  ordinary  armory 
of  no  avail  against  the  obduracy  of  the  country  squires, 
he  assailed  them  in  the  impassioned  language  of  poetry, 
and  produced  the  following  "  Invitation  to  the  Assem- 
bly," which,  as  Goldsmith  remarks,  was  highly  relished 
by  the  nobility  at  Bath  on  account  of  its  keenness, 
severity,  and  particularly  its  good  rhymes. 

"  Come,  one  and  all,  to  Hoyden  Hall, 
For  there's  the  assembly  this  night ; 

None  but  prude  fools 

Mind  manners  and  rules  ; 
We  Hoydens  do  decency  slight. 

Come,  trollops  and  slatterns, 

Cocked  hats  and  white,  aprons, 
This  best  our  modesty  suits  ; 

For  why  should  not  we 

In  dress  lie  as  free 
As  Hogs-Norton  squires  in  boots?" 


vii.]  THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASn.      59 

The  sarcasm  was  too  much  for  the  squires,  who  yielded 
in  a  hody  ;  and  when  any  stranger  through  inadvertence 
presented  himself  in  the  assembly-rooms  in  boots,  Nash 
was  so  completely  master  of  the  situation  that  he  would 
politely  step  up  to  the  intruder  and  suggest  that  he  h;id 
forgotten  his  horse. 

Goldsmith  does  not  magnify  the  intellectual  capacity  of 
his  hero  ;  but  he  gives  him  credit  for  a  sort  of  rude  wit 
that  was  sometimes  effective  enough.  His  physician,  for 
example,  having  called  on  him  to  see  whether  he  had  fol- 
lowed a  prescription  that  had  been  sent  him  the  previous 
day,  was  greeted  in  this  fashion  :  "  Followed  your  pre- 
scription ?  No.  Egad,  if  I  had,  I  should  have  broken 
my  neck,  for  I  flung  it  out  of  the  two  pair  of  stairs  win- 
dow." For  the  rest,  this  diverting  biography  contains 
some  excellent  warnings  aarainst  the  vice  of  g;amblino-  ; 
with  a  particular  account  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
Government  of  the  day  tried  by  statute  after  statute  to 
suppress  the  tables  at  Tunb ridge  and  Bath,  thereby  only 
driving  the  sharpers  to  new  subterfuges.  That  the  Beau 
was  in  alliance  with  sharpers,  or,  at  least,  that  he  was  a 
sleeping  partner  in  the  firm,  his  biographer  admits  ;  but 
it  is  urged  on'  his  behalf  that  he  was  the  most  generous 
of  winners,  and  again  and  again  interfered  to  prevent  the 
ruin  of  some  gambler  by  whose  folly  he  would  himself 
have  profited.  His  constant  charity  was  well  known  ; 
the  money  so  lightly  come  by  was  at  the  disposal  of  any 
one  who  could  prefer  a  piteous  tale.  Moreover  he  made 
no  scruple  about  exacting  from  others  that  charity  which 
they  could  well  afford.  One  may  easily  guess  who  was 
the  duchess  mentioned  in  the  following  story  of  Gold- 
smith's narration  : 

"  The  sums  he  gave  and  collected  for  the  Hospital 


GO  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

were  great,  and  his  manner  of  doing  it  was  no  less  ad- 
mirable. I  am  told  that  he  was  once  collecting  money  in 
Wiltshire's  room  for  that  purpose,  when  a  lady  entered, 
who  is  more  remarkable  for  her  wit  than  her  charity,  and 
not  being  able  to  pass  him  by  unobserved,  she  gave  him  a 
pat  with  her  fan,  and  said,  '  You  must  put  down  a  trifle 
for  me,  Nash,  for  I  have  no  money  in  my  pocket. ' 
'  Yes,  madam,'  says  he,  '  that  I  will  with  pleasure,  if 
your  grace  will  tell  me  when  to  stop  ; '  then  taking  an 
handful  of  guineas  out  of  his  pocket,  he  began  to  tell 
them    into    his    white    hat — '  One,     two,     three,     four, 

five '     '  Hold,   hold  !  '  says  the  duchess,   '  consider 

what  you  are  about. '  '  Consider  your  rank  and  fortune, 
madam,'  says  Nash,  and  continues  telling — '  six,  seven, 
eight,  nine,  ten.'  Here  the  duchess  called  again,  and 
seemed  angry.  '  Pray  compose  yourself,  madam,'  cried 
Nash,  '  and  don't  interrupt  the  work  of  charity — eleven, 
twelve,  thirteen,  fourteen,  fifteen.'  Here  the  duchess 
stormed,  and  caught  hold  of  his  hand.  '  Peace,  madam, ' 
says  Nash,  '  you  shall  have  your  name  written  in  letters 
of  gold,  madam,  and  upon  the  front  of  the  building, 
madam — sixteen,  seventeen,  eighteen,  nineteen,  twenty.' 
4  I  won't  pay  a  farthing  more,'  says  the  duchess. 
1  Charity  hides  a  multitude  of  sins,'  replies  Nash — 
4  twenty-one,  twenty -two,  twenty -three,  twenty-four, 
twenty-five.'  '  Nash,'  says  she,  *  I  protest  you  frighten 
me  out  of  my  wits.  Li — d,  I  shall  die  ! '  '  Madam,  you 
will  never  die  with  doing  good  ;  and  if  you  do,  it  will  be 
the  better  for  you,'  answered  Nash,  and  was  about  to 
proceed  ;  but  perceiving  her  grace  had  lost  all  patience,  a 
parley  ensued,  when  he,  after  much  altercation,  agreed  to 
stop  his  hand  and  compound  with  her  grace  for  thirty 
guineas.     The  duchess,  however,  seemed  displeased  the 


vii  ]  THE  CITIZEN  OF  THE  WORLD.— BEAU  NASH.      51 

whole  evening,  and  when  he  came  to  the  table  where  she 
was  playing,  bid  him,  '  Stand  farther,  an  ugly  devil,  for 
she  hated  the  sight  of  him.'  But  her  grace  afterwards 
having  a  run  of  <xood  luck  called  Nash  to  her.  '  Come, ' 
says  she,  '  I  will  be  friends  with  you,  though  you  are  a 
fool  ;  and  to  let  you  see  I  am  not  angry,  there  is  ten 
guineas  more  for  your  charity.  But  this  I  insist  on,  that 
neither  my  name  nor  the  sum  shall  be  mentioned.'  " 

At  the  ripe  age  of  eighty-seven  the  "  beau  of  three 
generations''  breathed  his  last  (1761)  ;  and,  though  he 
had  fallen  into  poor  ways,  there  were  those  alive  who  re- 
membered his  former  greatness,  and  who  chronicled  it  in 
a  series  of  epitaphs  and  poetical  lamentations.  "  One 
thing  is  common  almost  with  all  of  them,"  says  Gold- 
smith, "  and  that  is  that  Venus,  Cupid,  and  the  Graces 
are  commanded  to  weep,  and  that  Bath  shall  never  find 
such  another."  These  effusions  are  forgotten  now  ;  and 
so  would  Beau  Nash  be  also  but  for  this  biography, 
which,  no  doubt  meant  merely  for  the  book-market  of 
the  day,  lives  and  is  of  permanent  value  by  reason  of  the 
charm  of  its  style,  its  pervading  humor,  and  the  vivacity 
of  its  descriptions  of  the  fashionable  follies  of  the  eight- 
eenth century.  Nullum  fere  genus  scribendi  non  tetlgit. 
Nullum  quod  tetigit  non  ornavit.  Who  but  Goldsmith 
could  have  written  so  delightful  a  book  about  such  a 
poor  creature  as  Beau  Nash  1 


CHAPTER  VIII, 


THE    ARREST. 


It  was  no  doubt  owing  to  Newbery  that  Goldsmith, 
after  his  return  to  London,  was  induced  to  abandon,  tem- 
porarily or  altogether,  his  apartments  in  Wine-Office 
Court,  and  take  lodgings  in  the  house  of  a  Mrs.  Flem- 
ing, who  lived  somewhere  or  other  in  Islington.  New- 
bery had  rooms  in  Canonbury  Ilousc,  a  curious  old 
building  that  still  exists  ;  and  it  may  have  occurred  to 
the  publisher  that  Goldsmith,  in  this  suburban  district, 
would  not  only  be  nearer  him  for  consultation  and  so 
forth,  but  also  might  pay  more  attention  to  his  duties 
than  when  he  was  among  the  temptations  of  Fleet  Street. 
Goldsmith  was  working  industriously  in  the  service  of 
Newbery  at  this  time  (1763-4)  ;  in  fact,  so  completely 
was  the  bookseller  in  possession  of  the  hack,  that  Gold- 
smith's board  and  lodging  in  Mrs.  Fleming's  house,  ar- 
ranged for  at  £50  a  year,  was  paid  by  Newbery  himself. 
Writing  prefaces,  revising  new  editions,  contributing 
reviews — this  was  the  sort  of  work  he  undertook,  with 
more  or  less  content,  as  the  equivalent  of  the  modest 
sums  Mr.  Newbery  disbursed  for  him  or  handed  over  as 
pocket-money.  In  the  midst  of  all  this  drudgery  he  was 
now  secretly  engaged  on  work  that  aimed  at  something 
higher   than    mere   payment   of    bed   and   board.     The 


viii.]  THE  ARREST.  63 

smooth  lines  of  the  Traveller  were  receiving  further  pol- 
ish ;  tho  gcntle-natured  Vicar  was  writing  his  simple, 
quaint,  tender  story.  And  no  doubt  Goldsmith  was 
spurred  to  try  something  better  than  hack-work  by  the 
associations  that  he  was  now  forming,  chiefly  under  the 
wise  and  benevolent  friendship  of  Johnson. 

Anxious  always  to  be  thought  well  of,  he  was  now  be- 
ginning to  meet  people  whose  approval  was  worthy  of 
being  sought.  He  had  been  introduced  to  Reynolds. 
He  had  become  the  friend  of  Hogarth.  He  had  even 
made  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Boswcll,  from  Scotland. 
Moreover,  he  had  been  invited  to  become  one  of  the 
original  members  of  the  famous  Club  of  which  so  much 
has  been  written  ;  his  fellow-members  being  Reynolds, 
Johnson,  Burke,  Hawkins,  Beauclerk,  Bennet  Langton, 
and  Dr.  Nugent.  It  is  almost  certain  that  it  was  at 
Johnson's  instigation  that  he  had  been  admitted  into  this 
choice  fellowship.  Long  before  either  the  Traveller  or 
the  Vicar  had  been  heard  of,  Johnson  had  perceived  the 
literary  genius  that  obscurely  burned  in  the  uncouth  fig- 
ure of  this  Irishman,  and  was  anxious  to  impress  on 
others  Goldsmith's  claims  to  respect  and  consideration. 
In  the  minute  record  kept  by  Boswell  of  his  first  evening 
with  Johnson  at  the  Mitre  Tavern,  we  find  Johnson  say- 
ing, "  Dr.  Goldsmith  is  one  of  the  first  men  we  now 
have  as  an  author,  and  he  is  a  very  worthy  man  too. 
He  has  been  loose  in  his  principles,  but  he  is  coming 
right."  Johnson  took  walks  with  Goldsmith  ;  did  him 
the  honor  of  disputing  with  him  on  all  occasions  ;  bought 
a  copy  of  the  Life  of  Nash  when  it  appeared — an  un- 
usual compliment  for  one  author  to  pay  another,  in  theii 
day  or  in  ours  ;  allowed  him  to  call  on  Miss  Williams, 
the  blind  old  lady  in  Bolt  Court  ;  and  generally  was  his 


«t  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

friend,  counsellor,  and  champion.  Accordingly,  when 
Mr.  Boswell  entertained  the  great  Cham  to  supper  at  the 
Mitre — a  sudden  quarrel  with  his  landlord  having  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  order  the  banquet  at  his  own  house 
— he  was  careful  to  have  Dr.  Goldsmith  of  the  company. 
His  guests  that  evening  were  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  Davics 
(the  actor  and  bookseller  who  had  conferred  on  Boswell 
the  invaluable  favor  of  an  introduction  to  Johnson),  Mr. 
Eccles,  and  the  Rev.  Mr.  Ogilvic,  a  Scotch  poet  who 
deserves  our  gratitude  because  it  was  his  inopportune 
patriotism  that  provoked,  on  this  very  evening,  the  mem- 
orable epigram  about  the  high-road  leading  to  England. 
"Goldsmith,"  says  Boswell,  who  had  not  got  over  his 
envy  at  Goldsmith's  being  allowed  to  visit  the  blind  old 
pensioner  in  Bolt  Court,  "  as  usual,  endeavored  with  too 
much  eagerness  to  shine,  and  disputed  very  warmly  with 
Johnson  against  the  well-known  maxim  of  the  British 
constitution,  '  The  king  can  do  wrong.'  "  It  was  a  dis- 
pute not  so  much  about  facts  as  about  phraseology  ;  and, 
indeed,  there  seems  to  be  no  great  warmth  in  the  ex- 
pressions used  on  either  side.  Goldsmith  affirmed  that 
"  what  was  morally  false  could  not  be  politically  true  ;" 
and  that,  in  short,  the  king  could  by  the  misuse  of  his 
regal  power  do  wrong.  Johnson  replied,  that,  in  such  a 
case,  the  immediate  agents  of  the  king  were  the  persons 
to  be  tried  and  punished  for  the  offence.  "  The  king, 
though  he  should  command,  cannot  force  a  judge  to  con- 
demn a  man  unjustly  ;  therefore  it  is  the  judge  whom  we 
prosecute  and  punish."  But  when  he  stated  that  the 
king  "  is  above  every  thing,  and  there  is  no  power  by 
which  he  can  be  tried,"  he  was  surely  forgetting  an  im- 
portant chapter  in  English  history.  "  What  did  Crom- 
well do  for  his  country  ?"  he  himself  asked,  during  his 


vin.]  THE  ARREST.  «5 

subsequent  visit  to  Scotland,  of  old  Auehinlcck,  Bos- 
well's  father.  "God,  Doctor,"  replied  the  vile  Whig, 
' '  he  garred  kings  ken  they  had  a  Uth  in  their  necks. ' ' 

For  some  time  after  this  evening  Goldsmith  drops  out 
of  Boswell' s  famous  memoir  ;  perhaps  the  compiler  was 
not  anxious  to  give  him  too  much  prominence.  They 
had  not  liked  each  other  from  the  outset.  Boswell, 
vexed  by  the  greater  intimacy  of  Goldsmith  with  John- 
son, called  him  a  blunderer,  a  feather-brained  person, 
and  described  his  appearance  in  no  flattering  terms. 
Goldsmith,  on  the  other  hand,  on  being  asked  who  was 
this  Scotch  cur  that  followed  Johnson's  heels,  answered, 
"  He  is  not  a  cur  :  you  are  too  severe — he  is  only  a  bur. 
Tom  Davies  flung  him  at  Johnson  in  sport,  and  he  has 
the  faculty  of  sticking."  Boswell  would  probably  have 
been  more  tolerant  of  Goldsmith  as  a  rival,  if  he  could 
have  known  that  on  a  future  day  he  was  to  have  Johnson 
all  to  himself — to  carry  him  to  remote  wilds  and  exhibit 
him  as  a  portentous  literary  phenomenon  to  Highland 
lairds.  It  is  true  that  Johnson,  at  an  early  period  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Boswell,  did  talk  vaguely  about  a  trip 
to  the  Hebrides  ;  but  the  young  Scotch  idolater  thought 
it  was  all  too  good  to  be  true.  The  mention  of  Sir 
James  Macdonald,  says  Boswell,  ' '  led  us  to  talk  of  the 
Western  Islands  of  Scotland,  to  visit  which  he  expressed 
a  wish  that  then  appeared  to  me  a  very  romantic  fancy, 
which  I  little  thought  would  be  afterwards  realized.  He 
told  me  that  his  father  had  put  Martin's  account  of  those 
islands  into  his  hands  when  he  was  very  young,  and  that 
he  was  highly  pleased  with  it  ;  that  he  was  particularly 
struck  with  the  St.  Kilda  man's  notion  that  the  High 
Church  of  Glasgow  had  been  hollowed  out  of  a  rock  ;  a 
circumstance  to  which  old  Mr.  Johnson  had  directed  his 
4 


60  GOLDSMITH.  [chaj». 

attention."  Unfortunately  Goldsmith  not  only  disap- 
pears from  the  pages  of  Boswcll's  biography  at  this  time, 
but  also  in  great  measure  from  the  ken  of  his  compan- 
ions, lie  was  deeply  in  debt  ;  no  doubt  the  fine  clothes 
he  had  been  ordering  from  Mr.  Filby  in  order  that  he 
might  "  shine"  among  those  notable  persons,  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  it  ;  he  had  tried  the  patience  of  the 
booksellers  ;  and  he  had  been  devoting  a  good  deal  of 
time  to  work  not  intended  to  elicit  immediate  payment. 
The  most  patient  endeavors  to  trace  out  his  changes  of 
lodgings,  and  the  fugitive  writings  that  kept  him  in  daily 
bread,  have  not  been  very  successful.  It  is  to  be  pre- 
sumed that  Goldsmith  had  occasionally  to  go  into  hiding 
to  escape  from  his  creditors,  and  so  was  missed  from  his 
familiar  haunts.  We  only  reach  daylight  again,  to  find 
Goldsmith  being  under  threat  of  arrest  from  his  land- 
lady ;  and  for  the  particulars  of  this  famous  affair  it  is 
necessary  to  return  to  Boswell. 

Boswell  was  not  in  London  at  that  time  ;  but  his  ac- 
count was  taken  down  subsequently  from  Johnson's  nar- 
ration ;  and  his  accuracy  in  other  matters,  his  extraordi- 
nary memory,  and  scrupulous  care,  leave  no  doubt  in  the 
mind  that  his  version  of  the  story  is  to  be  preferred  to 
those  of  Mrs.  Piozzi  and  Sir  John  Hawkins.  We  may 
take  it  that  these  are  Johnson's  own  words  :  "I  re- 
ceived one  morning  a  message  from  poor  Goldsmith  that 
he  was  in  great  distress,  and,  as  it  was  not  in  his  power  to 
come  to  me,  begging  that  I  would  come  to  him  as  soon 
as  possible.  I  sent  him  a  guinea,  and  promised  to  come 
to  him  directly.  I  accordingly  went  as  soon  as  I  was 
dressed,  and  found  that  his  landlady  had  arrested  him  for 
his  rent,  at  which  he  was  in  a  violent  passion.  I  per- 
ceived that  he  had  already  changed  my  guinea,  and  had 


vni]  THE  ARREST.  67 

got  a  bottle  of  Madeira  and  a  glass  before  bim.  I  put 
tbc  cork  into  the  bottle,  desired  be  would  be  cairn,  and 
began  to  talk  to  him  of  the  means  by  which  he  might  be 
extricated.  He  then  told  me  that  lie  had  a  novel  ready 
for  the  press,  which  he  produced  to  me.  I  looked  into 
it,  and  saw  its  merit  ;  told  the  landlady  I  should  soon 
return  ;  and,  having  gone  to  a  bookseller,  sold  it  for 
£60.  I  brought  Goldsmith  the  money,  and  he  dis- 
charged his  rent,  not  without  rating  his  landlady  in  a 
high  tone  for  having  used  him  so  ill. ' ' 

We  do  not  know  who  this  landlady  was — it  cannot  now 
be  made  out  whether  the  incident  occurred  at  Islington, 
or  in  the  rooms  that  Goldsmith  partially  occupied  in  the 
Temple  ;  but  even  if  Mrs.  Fleming  be  the  landlady  in 
question,  she  was  deserving  neither  of  Goldsmith's  rating 
nor  of  the  reprimands  that  have  been  bestowed  upon  her 
by  later  writers.  Mrs.  Fleming  had  been  exceedingly 
kind  to  Goldsmith.  Again  and  again  in  her  bills  we  find 
items  significantly  marked  £0  0s.  Od.  And  if  her  ac- 
counts with  her  lodger  did  get  hopelessly  into  arrear  ; 
and  if  she  was  annoyed  by  seeing  him  go  out  in  fine 
clothes  to  sup  at  the  Mitre  ;  and  if,  at  length,  her 
patience  gave  way,  and  she  determined  to  have  her  rights 
in  one  way  or  another,  she  was  no  worse  than  landladies 
— who  are  only  human  beings,  and  not  divinely  ap- 
pointed protectresses  of  genius — ordinarily  are.  Mrs. 
Piozzi  says  that  when  Johnson  came  back  with  the 
money,  Goldsmith  "  called  the  woman  of  the  house 
directly  to  partake  of  punch,  and  pass  their  time  in  mer- 
riment." This  would  be  a  dramatic  touch  ;  but,  after 
Johnson's  quietly  corking  the  bottle  of  Madeira,  it  is 
more  likely  that  no  such  thing  occurred  ;  especially  as 
Boswell  quotes  the  statement  as  an  "  extreme  inaccuracy. ' ' 


68  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

The  novel  which  Johnson  had  taken  away  and  sold  to 
Francis  Newbery,  a  nephew  of  the  elder  hookseller,  was, 
as  every  one  knows,  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  That  Gold- 
smith, amidst  all  his  pecuniary  distresses,  should  have  re- 
tained this  piece  in  his  desk,  instead  of  pawning  or 
promising  it  to  one  of  his  bookselling  patrons,  points  to 
hut  one  conclusion — that  he  was  building  high  hopes  on 
it,  and  was  determined  to  make  it  as  good  as  lay  within 
his  power.  Goldsmith  put  an  anxious  finish  into  all  his 
better  work  ;  perhaps  that  is  the  secret  of  the  graceful 
ease  that  is  now  apparent  in  every  line.  Any  young 
writer  who  may  imagine  that  the  power  of  clear  and  con- 
cise literary  expression  comes  by  nature,  cannot  do  better 
than  study,  in  Mr.  Cunningham's  big  collection  of  Gold- 
smith's writings,  the  continual  and  minute  alterations 
which  the  author  considered  necessary  even  after  the  first 
edition — sometimes  when  the  second  and  third  editions 
— had  been  published.  Many  of  these,  especially  in  the 
poetical  works,  were  merely  improvements  in  sound  as 
suggested  by  a  singularly  sensitive  ear,  as  when  he  al- 
tered the  line 

"  Amidst  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead," 

which  had  appeared  in  the  first  three  editions  of  the 
Traveller,  into 

"  There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead," 

which  appeared  in  the  fourth.  But  the  majority  of  the 
omissions  and  corrections  were  prompted  by  a  careful 
taste,  that  abhorred  every  thing  redundant  or  slovenly. 
It  has  been  suggested  that  when  Johnson  carried  off  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  to  Francis  Newbery,  the  manuscript 
was  not  quite  finished,  but  had  to  be  completed  after- 
wards.    There   was    at   least  plenty   of  time   for  that. 


vni.]  THE  ARREST.  69 

Newbery  does  not  appear  to  have  imagined  that  he  had 
obtained  a  prize  in  the  lottery  of  literature.  He  paid  the 
£60  for  it — clearly  on  tbe  assurance  of  the  great  father 
of  learning  of  the  day,  that  there  was  merit  in  the  little 
story — somewhere  about  the  end  of  1764  ;  but  the  tale 
was  not  issued  to  the  public  until  March,  1766.  "  And, 
sir,"  remarked  Johnson  to  Boswell,  with  regard  to  the 
sixty  pounds,  "  a  sufficient  price,  too,  when  it  was  sold  ; 
for  then  the  fame  of  Goldsmith  had  not  been  elevated,  as 
it  afterwards  was,  by  his  Traveller  ;  and  the  bookseller 
had  such  faint  hopes  of  profit  by  his  bargain,  that  he 
kept  the  manuscript  by  him  a  long  time,  and  did  not 
publish  it  till  after  the  Traveller  had  appeared.  Then, 
to  be  sure,  it  was  accidentally  worth  more  money." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     TRAVELLER. 

This  poem  of  the  Traveller,  the  fruit  of  mucli  secret 
labor  and  the  consummation  of  the  hopes  of  many  years, 
was  lying  completed  in  Goldsmith's  desk  when  the  inci- 
dent of  the  arrest  occurred  ;  and  the  elder  Newbery  had 
undertaken  to  publish  it.  Then,  as  at  other  times,  John- 
son lent  this  wayward  child  of  genius  a  friendly  band. 
He  read  over  the  proof-sheets  for  Goldsmith  ;  was  so 
kind  as  to  put  in  a  line  here  or  there  where  he  thought 
fit  ;  and  prepared  a  notice  of  the  poem  for  the  Critical 
Revieiv.  The  time  for  the  appearance  of  this  new  claim- 
ant for  poetical  honors  was  propitious.  "  There  was 
perhaps  no  point  in  the  century,"  says  Professor  Mas- 
son,  ' '  when  the  British  Muse,  such  as  she  had  come  to 
be,  was  doing  less,  or  had  so  nearly  ceased  to  do  any 
thing,  or  to  have  any  good  opinion  of  herself,  as  pre- 
cisely about  the  year  17G4.  Young  was  dying  ;  Gray 
was  recluse  and  indolent  ;  Johnson  had  long  given  over 
his  metrical  experimentations  on  any  except  the  most  in- 
considerable scale  ;  Akenside,  Armstrong,  Smollett,  and 
others  less  known,  had  pretty  well  revealed  the  amount 
of  their  worth  in  poetry  ;  and  Churchill,  after  his  fero- 
cious blaze  of  what  was  really  rage  and  declamation  in 
metre,   though  conventionally  it  was  called  poetry,   was 


tx.]  THE  TRAVELLER.  71 

prematurely  defunct.  Into  this  lull  came  Goldsmith's 
short  but  carefully  finished  poem.1'  "There  has  not 
been  so  fine  a  poem  since  Pope's  time,"  remarked  John- 
son to  Boswell,  on  the  very  first  evening  after  the  return 
of  young  Auchinleck  to  London.  It  would  have  been  no 
matter  for  surprise  had  Goldsmith  dedicated  this  first 
work  that  he  published  under  his  own  name  to  Johnson, 
who  had  for  so  lono;  been  his  constant  friend  and  ad- 
viser  ;  and  such  a  dedication  would  have  carried  weight 
in  certain  quarters.  But  there  was  a  finer  touch  in  Gold- 
smith's thought  of  inscribing  the  book  to  his  brother 
Henry  ;  and  no  doubt  the  public  were  surprised  and 
pleased  to  find  a  poor  devil  of  an  author  dedicating  a 
work  to  an  Irish  parson  with  £40  a  year,  from  whom  he 
could  not  well  expect  any  return.  It  will  be  remembered 
that  it  was  to  this  brother  Henry  that  Goldsmith,  ten 
years  before,  had  sent  the  first  sketch  of  the  poem  ;  and 
now  the  wanderer, 

"  Remote,  unfriended,  melancholy,  slow," 

declares  how  his  heart  untravelled 

"  Still  to  my  brother  turns,  with  ceaseless  pain, 
And  drags  at  each  remove  a  lengthening  chain." 

The  very  first  line  of  the  poem  strikes  a  key-note — 
there  is  in  it  a  pathetic  thrill  of  distance,  and  regret,  and 
longing  ;  and  it  has  the  soft  musical  sound  that  pervades 
the  whole  composition.  It  is  exceedingly  interesting  to 
note,  as  has  already  been  mentioned,  how  Goldsmith 
altered  and  altered  these  lines  until  he  had  got  them  full 
of  gentle  vowel  sounds.  Where,  indeed,  in  the  English 
language  could  one  find  more  graceful  melody  than 
this  ?— 


72  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

"  The  naked  negro,  panting  at  the  line, 
Boasts  of  his  golden  sands  and  palmy  wine, 
Basks  in  the  glare,  or  stems  the  tepid  wave, 
And  thanks  his  gods  for  all  the  good  they  gave." 

It  lias  been  observed  also  that  Goldsmith  was  the  first  to 
introduce  into  English  poetry  sonorous  American  —  or 
rather  Indian — names,  as  when  he  writes  in  this  poem, 

"  Where  wild  Oswego  spreads  her  swamps  around, 
And  Niagara  stuns  with  thundering  sound  ;" 

and  if  it  be  charged  against  him  that  he  ought  to  have 
known  the  proper  accentuation  of  Niagara,  it  may  be 
mentioned  as  a  set-off  that  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  dealing 
with  his  own  country,  mis-accentuated  "  Glenaladale," 
to  say  nothing  of  his  having  made  of  Roseneath  an 
island.  Another  characteristic  of  the  Traveller  is  the  ex- 
traordinary choiceness  and  conciseness  of  the  diction, 
which,  instead  of  suggesting  pedantry  or  affectation,  be- 
trays, on  the  contrary,  nothing  but  a  delightful  ease  and 
grace. 

The  English  people  are  very  fond  of  good  English  ; 
and  thus  it  is  that  couplets  from  the  Traveller  and  the 
Deserted  Village  have  come  into  the  common  stock  of 
our  language,  and  that  sometimes  not  so  much  on 
account  of  the  ideas  they  convey,  as  through  their  singu- 
lar precision  of  epithet  and  musical  sound.  It  is  enough 
to  make  the  angels  weep  to  find  such  a  couplet  as  this, 

"  Cheerful  at  morn,  he  wakes  from  short  repose, 
Breasts  the  keen  air,  and  carols  as  he  goes," 

murdered  in  several  editions  of  Goldsmith's  works  by 
the  substitution  of  the  commonplace  "  breathes"  for 
"  breasts" — and  that  after  Johnson  had  drawn  particular 
attention   to  the   line   by  quoting   it  in  his  Dictionary. 


IX.]  THE  TRAVELLER.  73 

Perhaps,  indeed,  it  may  be  admitted  that  the  literary 
charm  of  the  Traveller  is  more  apparent  than  the  value 
of  any  doctrine,  however  profound  or  ingenious,  which 
the  poem  was  supposed  to  inculcate.  We  forget  all 
about  the  ' '  particular  principle  of  happiness' '  possessed 
by  each  European  state,  in  listening  to  the  melody  of  the 
singer,  and  in  watching  the  successive  and  delightful  pic- 
tures that  he  calls  up  before  the  imagination. 

"  As  in  those  domes  where  Caesars  once  bore  sway, 
Defaced  by  time,  and  tottering  in  decay, 
There  in  the  ruin,  heedless  of  the  dead, 
The  shelter-seeking  peasant  builds  his  shed  ; 
And,  wondering  man  could  want  the  larger  pile, 
Exults,  and  owns  his  cottage  with  a  smile." 

Then  notice  the  blaze  of  patriotic  idealism  that  bursts 
forth  when  he  comes  to  talk  of  England.  What  sort  of 
Eno-land  had  he  been  familiar  with  when  he  was  consort- 
ing  with  the  meanest  wretches — the  poverty-stricken,  the 
sick,  and  squalid — in  those  Fleet-street  dens  ?  But  it  is 
an  England  of  bright  streams  and  spacious  lawns  of 
which  he  writes  ;  and  as  for  the  people  who  inhabit  the 
favored  land — 

"  Stern  o'er  each  bosom  reason  holds  her  state, 
With  daring  aims  irregularly  great ; 
Pride  in  their  port,  defiance  in  their  eye, 
I  see  the  lords  of  human  kind  pass  by." 

"  Whenever  I  write  any  thing,"  Goldsmith  had  said, 
with  a  humorous  exaggeration  which  Boswell,  as  usual, 
takes  au  serieux,  "  the  public  make  a  point  to  know 
nothing  about  it."  But  we  have  Johnson's  testimony  to 
the  fact  that  the  Traveller  "  brought  him  into  high  rep- 
utation." No  wonder.  When  the  great  Cham  declares 
it  to  be  the  finest  poem  published  since  the  time  of  Pope, 


74  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

we  are  irresistibly  forced  to  think  of  the  Essay  on  Man. 
What  a  contrast    there    is    between  that   tedious   and 
stilted  effort   and  this  clear  burst  of    bird-song  !     The 
Traveller,  however,   did  not  immediately  become  popu- 
lar.    It  was  largely  talked  about,  naturally,  among  Gold- 
smith's friends  ;  and  Johnson  would  scarcely  suffer  any 
criticism  of  it.     At  a  dinner  given  long  afterwards  at  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds's,  and  fully  reported  by  the  invaluable 
Boswell,     Reynolds    remarked,     "  I  was    glad    to    hear 
Charles   Fox   say  it  was   one   of  the   finest  poems  in  the 
English    language."      "Why    were    you    glad?"     said 
Langton.      "  You  surely  had  no  doubt  of  this  before  ?" 
Hereupon  Johnson  struck  in  :    "  No  ;  the  merit  of  the 
Traveller  is   so  well   established,    that   Mr.    Fox's   praise 
cannot  augment  it  nor  his  censure  diminish  it."     And  he 
went  on  to  say — Goldsmith  having  died  and  got  beyond 
the  reach  of  all   critics  and  creditors  some  three  or  four 
years  before   this    time — "  Goldsmith   was  a  man   who, 
whatever   he   wrote,    did  it  better  than  any  other  man 
could  do.     He  deserved  a  place  in  Westminster  Abbey  ; 
and  every  year  he  lived  would  have  deserved  it  better." 

Presently  people  began  to  talk  about  the  new  poem. 
A  second  edition  was  issued  ;  a  third  ;  a  fourth.  It  is 
not  probable  that  Goldsmith  gained  any  pecuniary  benefit 
from  the  growing  popularity  of  the  little  book  ;  but  he 
had  "  struck  for  honest  fame,"  and  that  was  now  com- 
ing to  him.  He  even  made  some  slight  acquaintance 
with  "  the  great  ;"  and  here  occurs  an  incident  which  is 
one  of  many  that  account  for  the  love  that  the  English 
people  have  for  Goldsmith.  It  appears  that  Hawkins, 
calling  one  day  on  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  found 
the  author  of  the  Traveller  waiting  in  the  outer  room,  in 
response  to  an  imitation.      Hawkins,  having  finished  his 


IX.]  TIIE  TRAVELLER.  75 

own  business,  retired,  but  lingered  about  until  tbe  inter- 
view between  Goldsmith  and  bis  lordship  was  over,  hav- 
ing some  curiosity  about  the  result.  Here  follows  Gold- 
smith's report  to  Hawkins  :  "  His  lordship  told  me  he 
had  read  my  poem,  and  was  much  delighted  with  it  ; 
that  he  was  going  to  be  Lord-lieutenant  of  Ireland  ;  and 
that,  hearing  that  I  was  a  native  of  that  country,  he 
should  be  glad  to  do  me  any  kindness."  "What  did 
you  answer  ?"  says  Hawkins,  no  doubt  expecting  to  hear 
of  some  application  for  pension  or  post.  ' '  Why, ' '  said 
Goldsmith,  "  I  could  say  nothing  but  that  I  had  a 
brother  there,  a  clergyman,  that  stood  in  need  of  help" 
. — and  then  he  explained  to  Hawkins  that  he  looked  to 
the  booksellers  for  support,  and  was  not  inclined  to  place 
dependence  on  the  promises  of  great  men.  "  Thus  did 
this  idiot  in  the  affairs  of  the  world,"  adds  Hawkins, 
with  a  fatuity  that  is  quite  remarkable  in  its  way,  "  trifle 
with  his  fortunes,  and  put  back  the  hand  that  was  held 
out  to  assist  him  !  Other  offers  of  a  like  kind  ho  either 
rejected  or  failed  to  improve,  contenting  himself  with  the 
patronage  of  one  nobleman,  whose  mansion  afforded  him 
the  delights  of  a  splendid  table  and  a  retreat  for  a  few 
days  from  the  metropolis. "  It  is  a  great  pity  we  have 
not  a  description  from  the  same  pen  of  Johnson's  insolent 
ingratitude  in  flinging  the  pair  of  boots  downstairs. 


CHAPTER  X. 

MISCELLANEOUS    WRITING. 

But  one  pecuniary  result  of  this  growing  fame  was  a 
joint  offer  on  the  part  of  Griffin  and  Newbery  of  £20  for 
a  selection  from  his  printed  essays  ;  and  this  selection  was 
forthwith  made  and  published,  with  a  preface  written  for 
the  occasion.  Here  at  once  we  can  see  that  Goldsmith 
takes  firmer  ground.  There  is  an  air  of  confidence — of 
gayety,  even — in  his  address  to  the  public  ;  although,  as 
usual,  accompanied  by  a  whimsical  mock-modesty  that  is 
extremely  odd  and  effective.  "  Whatever  right  I  have 
to  complain  of  the  public, ' '  he  says,  ' '  they  can,  as  yet, 
have  no  just  reason  to  complain  of  me.  If  I  have  writ- 
ten dull  Essays,  they  have  hitherto  treated  them  as  dull 
Essays.  Thus  far  we  are  at  least  upon  par,  and  until 
they  think  fit  to  make  me  their  humble  debtor  by  praise, 
I  am  resolved  not  to  lose  a  single  inch  of  my  self-import- 
ance. Instead,  therefore,  of  attempting  to  establish  a 
credit  amongst  them,  it  will  perhaps  be  wiser  to  apply  to 
some  more  distant  correspondent  ;  and  as  my  drafts  are 
in  some  danger  of  being  protested  at  home,  it  may  not 
be  imprudent,  upon  this  occasion,  to  draw  my  bills  upon 
Posterity. 

"  Mr.  Posterity, 

"  Sir  :  Nine  hundred  and  ninety -nine  years  after  sight 
hereof  pay  the  bearer,  or  order,  a  thousand  pounds'  worth 


x.]  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITING,  77 

of  praise,  free  from  all  deductions  whatsoever,  it  being  a 
commodity  that  will  then  be  very  serviceable  to  him,  and 
place  it  to  the  account  of,  etc." 

The  bill  is  not  yet  due  ;  but  there  can  in  the  meantime 
be  no  harm  in  discounting  it  so  far  as  to  say  that  these 
Essays  deserve  very  decided  praise.  They  deal  with  all 
manner  of  topics,  matters  of  fact,  matters  of  imagina- 
tion, humorous  descriptions,  learned  criticisms  ;  and 
then,  whenever  the  entertainer  thinks  he  is  becoming 
dull,  he  suddenly  tells  a  quaint  little  story  and  walks  off 
amidst  the  laughter  he  knows  he  has  produced.  It  is  not 
a  very  ambitious  or  sonorous  sort  of  literature  ;  but  it 
was  admirably  fitted  for  its  aim — the  pnssing  of  the  im- 
mediate hour  in  an  agreeable  and  fairly  intellectual  way. 
One  can  often  see,  no  doubt,  that  these  Essays  are  occa- 
sionally written  in  a  more  or  less  perfunctory  fashion,  the 
writer  not  being  moved  by  much  enthusiasm  in  his  sub- 
ject ;  but  even  then  a  quaint  literary  grace  seldom  fails 
to  atone,  as  when,  writing  about  the  English  clergy,  and 
complaining  that  they  do  not  sufficiently  in  their  ad- 
dresses stoop  to  mean  capacities,  he  says  :  "  Whatever 
may  become  of  the  higher  orders  of  mankind,  who  are 
generally  possessed  of  collateral  motives  to  virtue,  the 
vulgar  should  be  particularly  regarded,  whose  behavior  in 
civil  life  is  totally  hinged  upon  their  hopes  and  fears. 
Those  who  constitute  the  basis  of  the  great  fabric  of  so- 
ciety should  be  particularly  regarded  ;  for  in  policy,  as 
in  architecture,  ruin  is  most  fatal  when  it  begins  from 
the  bottom."  There  was,  indeed,  throughout  Gold 
smith's  miscellaneous  writing  much  more  common-sense 
than  might  have  been  expected  from  a  writer  who  was 
supposed  to  have  none. 


78  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

As  regards  his  chance  criticisms  on  dramatic  and  poet- 
ical literature,  these  are  generally  found  to  be  incisive  and 
just  ;  while  sometimes  they  exhibit  a  wholesome  disre- 
gard of  mere  tradition  and  authority.  "  Milton's  trans- 
lation of  Horace's  Ode  to  Fyrrha,"  he  says,  for  example, 
"  is  universally  known  and  generally  admired,  in  our 
opinion  much  above  its  merit."  If  the  present  writer 
might  for  a  moment  venture  into  such  an  arena,  he  would 
express  the  honest  belief  that  that  translation  is  the  very 
worst  translation  that  was  ever  made  of  any  thing.  But 
there  is  the  happy  rendering  of  simplex  munditiis,  which 
counts  for  much. 

By  this  time  Goldsmith  had  also  written  his  charming 
ballad  of  Edwin  and  Angelina,  which  was  privately 
"  printed  for  the  amusement  of  the  Countess  of  North- 
umberland," and  which  afterwards  appeared  in  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield.  It  seems  clear  enough  that  this  quaint 
and  pathetic  piece  was  suggested  by  an  old  ballad  begin- 
ning, 

"  Gentle  heardsman,  tell  to  me, 

Of  curtesy  I  thee  pray, 
Unto  the  towne  of  Walsingham 

Which  is  the  right  and  ready  way," 

which  Percy  had  shown  to  Goldsmith,  and  which, 
patched  up,  subsequently  appeared  in  the.  Reliques.  But 
Goldsmith's  ballad  is  original  enough  to  put  aside  all  the 
discussion  about  plagiarism  which  was  afterwards  started. 
In  the  old  fragment  the  weeping  pilgrim  receives  direc- 
tions from  the  herdsman,  and  goes  on  her  way,  and  we 
hear  of  her  no  more  ;  in  Edwin  and  Angelina  the  forlorn 
and  despairing  maiden  suddenly  finds  herself  confronted 
by  the  long-lost  lover  whom  she  had  so  cruelly  used. 
This  is  the  dramatic  touch  that  reveals  the  hand  of  the 


X.]  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITING.  79 

artist.  And  here  again  it  is  curious  to  note  the  care  with 
which  Goldsmith  repeatedly  revised  his  writings.  The 
ballad  originally  ended  with  these  two  stanzas  : 

"  Here  amidst  sylvan  bowers  we'll  rove, 
From  lawn  to  woodland  stray  ; 
Blest  as  the  songsters  of  the  grove, 
And  innocent  as  they. 

"  To  all  that  want,  and  all  that  wail, 
Our  pity  shall  be  given, 
And  when  this  life  of  love  shall  fail, 
We'll  love  again  in  heaven." 

But  subsequently  it  must  have  occurred  to  the  author 
that,  the  dramatic  disclosure  once  made,  and  the  lovers 
restored  to  each  other,  any  lingering  over  the  scene  only 
weakened  the  force  of  the  climax  ;  hence  these  stanzas 
were  judiciously  excised.  It  may  be  doubted,  however, 
whether  the  original  version  of  the  last  couplet, 

"  And  the  last  sigh  that  rends  the  heart 
Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too," 

was  improved  by  being  altered  into 

"  The  sigh  that  rends  thy  constant  heart 
Shall  break  thy  Edwin's  too." 

Meanwhile  Goldsmith  had  resorted  to  hack-work 
again  ;  nothing  being  expected  from  the  Vicar  of  Wake- 
field, now  lying  in  Newbery's  shop,  for  that  had  been 
paid  for,  and  his  expenses  were  increasing,  as  became  his 
greater  station.  In  the  interval  between  the  publication 
of  the  Traveller  and  of  the  Vicar,  he  moved  into  bettei 
chambers  in  Garden  Court  ;  he  hired  a  man-servant,  he 
blossomed  out  into  very  fine  clothes.  Indeed,  so  effec- 
tive did  his  first  suit  seem  to  be — the  purple  silk  small- 
clothes, the  scarlet  roquelaure,  the  wig,  sword,  and  gold- 


80  GOLDSMITH.  [chap,  x.] 

headed  cane — that,  as  Mr.  Forster  says,  he  "  amazed  his 
friends  with  no  less  than  three  similar  suits,  not  less  ex- 
pensive, in  the  next  six  months."  Part  of  this  display 
was  no  doubt  owing  to  a  suggestion  from  Reynolds  that 
Goldsmith,  having  a  medical  degree,  might  just  as  well 
add  the  practice  of  a  physician  to  his  literary  work,  to 
magnify  his  social  position.  Goldsmith,  always  willing 
to  please  his  friends,  acceded  ;  but  his  practice  does  not 
appear  to  have  been  either  extensive  or  long-continued. 
It  is  said  that  he  drew  out  a  prescription  for  a  certain 
Mrs.  Sidebotham  which  so  appalled  the  apothecary  that 
he  refused  to  make  it  up  ;  and  that,  as  the  lady  sided 
with  the  apothecary,  he  threw  up  the  case  and  his  pro- 
fession at  the  same  time.  If  it  was  money  Goldsmith 
wanted,  he  was  not  likely  to  get  it  in  that  way  ;  he  had 
neither  the  appearance  nor  the  manner  fitted  to  humor 
the  sick  and  transform  healthy  people  into  valetudinari- 
ans. If  it  was  the  esteem  of  his  friends  and  popularity 
outside  that  circle,  he  was  soon  to  acquire  enough  of 
both.  On  the  27th  March,  1766,  fifteen  months  after  the 
appearance  of  the  Traveller,  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  was 
published. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE    VICAR    OF   WAKEFIELD. 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  considered  structurally,  fol« 
lows  the  lines  of  the  Book  of  Job.  You  take  a  good 
man,  overwhelm  him  with  successive  misfortunes,  show 
the  pure  flame  of  his  soul  burning  in  the  midst  of  the 
darkness,  and  then,  as  the  reward  of  his  patience  and 
fortitude  and  submission,  restore  him  gradually  to  happi- 
ness, with  even  larger  flocks  and  herds  than  before. 
The  machinery  by  which  all  this  is  brought  about  is,  in 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  the  weak  part  of  the  story. 
The  plot  is  full  of  wild  improbabilities  ;  in  fact,  the  ex- 
pedients by  which  all  the  members  of  the  family  are 
brought  together  and  made  happy  at  the  same  time,  are 
nothing  short  of  desperate.  It  is  quite  clear,  too,  that 
the  author  does  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  episode  of 
Olivia  and  her  husband  ;  they  are  allowed  to  drop 
through  ;  we  leave  him  playing  the  French  horn  at  a  re- 
lation's house  ;  while  she,  in  her  father's  home,  is  sup- 
posed to  be  unnoticed,  so  much  are  they  all  taken  up 
with  the  rejoicings  over  the  double  wedding.  It  is  very 
probable  that  when  Goldsmith  began  the  story  he  had  no 
very  definite  plot  concocted  ;  and  that  it  was  only  when 
the  much-persecuted  Vicar  had  to  be  restored  to  happi- 
ness, that  he  found  the  entanglements  surrounding  him, 


82  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

and  had  to  make  frantic  efforts  to  break  through  them. 
But,  be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  not  for  the  plot  that  people 
now  read  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield ;  it  is  not  the  intrica- 
cies of  the  story  that  have  made  it  the  delight  of  the 
world.  Surely  human  nature  must  be  very  much  the 
same  when  this  simple  description  of  a  quiet  English 
home  went  straight  to  the  heart  of  nations  in  both  hemi- 
spheres. 

And  the  wonder  is  that  Goldsmith  of  all  men  should 
have  produced  such  a  perfect  picture  of  domestic  life. 
What  had  his  own  life  been  but  a  moving  about  between 
garret  and  tavern,  between  bachelor's  lodgings  and 
clubs  ?  Where  had  he  seen — unless,  indeed,  he  looked 
back  through  the  mist  of  years  to  the  scenes  of  his  child- 
hood— all  this  gentle  government,  and  wise  blindness  ; 
all  this  affection,  and  consideration,  and  respect  ?  There 
is  as  much  human  nature  in  the  character  of  the  Vicar 
alone  as  would  have  furnished  any  fifty  of  the  novels  of 
that  day,  or  of  this.  Who  has  not  been  charmed  by  his 
sly  and  quaint  humor,  by  his  moral  dignity  and  simple 
vanities,  even  by  the  little  secrets  he  reveals  to  us  of  his 
paternal  rule.  "  '  Ay,'  returned  I,  not  knowing  well 
what  to  think  of  the  matter,  '  heaven  grant  they  may  be 
both  the  better  for  it  this  day  three  months  ! '  This  was 
one  of  those  observations  I  usually  made  to  impress  my 
wife  with  an  opinion  of  my  sagacity  ;  for  if  the  girls 
succeeded,  then  it  was  a  pious  wish  fulfilled  ;  but  if  any 
thing  unfortunate  ensued,  then  it  might  be  looked  on  as 
a  prophecy."  We  know  how  Miss  Olivia  was  answered, 
when,  "at  her  mother's  prompting,  she  set  up  for  being 
well  skilled  in  controversy  : 

"  '  Why,   my   dear,   what  controversy  can  she   have 
read  ? '  cried  I.     '  It  does  not  occur  to  me  that  I  ever 


xi.]  THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  83 

put  such  books  into  her  hands  :  you  certainly  overrate 
her  merit.' — '  Indeed,  papa,'  replied  Olivia,  'she  does 
not  ;  I  have  read  a  great  deal  of  controversy.  I  have 
read  the  disputes  between  Thwackum  and  Square  ;  the 
controversy  between  Robinson  Crusoe  and  Friday,  the  sav- 
age ;  and  I  am  now  employed  in  reading  the  controversy 
in  Religious  Courtship.' — '  Very  well,'  cried  I,  '  that's  a 
good  girl  ;  I  find  you  are  perfectly  qualified  for  making 
converts,  and  so  go  help  your  mother  to  make  the  goose- 
berry pie.'  " 

It  is   with  a  great  gentleness  that  the  good  man  re- 
minds his  wife  and  daughters  that,  after  their  sudden  loss 
of   fortune,   it   does   not   become   them   to  wear  much 
finery.     "  The  first  Sunday,  in  particular,  their  behavior 
served  to  mortify  me.     I  had  desired  my  girls  the  pre- 
ceding night  to  be  dressed  early  the  next  day  ;  for  I  al- 
ways loved  to  be  at  church  a  good  while  before  the  rest 
of  the  congregation.     They  punctually  obeyed  my  direc- 
tions ;  but  when  we  were  to  assemble  in  the  morning  at 
breakfast,   down  came  my  wife  and  daughters,  dressed 
out  in  all  their  former  splendor  ;  their  hair  plastered  up 
with  pomatum,  their  faces  patched  to  taste,  their  trains 
bundled   up   in   a   heap   behind,  and  rustling   at   every 
motion.     1  could  not  help  smiling  at  their  vanity,  par- 
ticularly that  of  my  wife,  from  whom  I  expected  more 
discretion.     In    this    exigence,    therefore,   my  only  re- 
source was  to  order  my  son,  with  an  important  air,  to 
call   our  coach.     The  girls   were   amazed   at   the    com- 
mand ;  but  I  repeated  it  with  more  solemnity  than  be- 
fore.    '  Surely,  my  dear,  you  jest,'  cried  my  wife  ;  '  we 
can  walk  it  perfectly  well  :  we  want  no  coach  to  carry  us 
now.' — '  You  mistake,  child,'  returned  I,  '  we  do  want  a 
coach  ;  for  if  we  walk  to  church  in  this  trim,  the  very 


84  GOLDSMITH.  [cuap. 

children  in  the  parish  will  hoot  after  us.' — '  Indeed,'  re- 
plied my  wife,  '  I  always  imagined  that  ray  Charles  was 
fond  of  seeing  his  children  neat  and  handsome  about 
him.' — •'  You  may  be  as  neat  as  you  please,'  interrupt- 
ed I,  '  and  I  shall  love  you  the  better  for  it  ;  but  all 
this  is  not  neatness,  but  frippery.  These  rufflings,  and 
pinkings,  and  patchings  will  only  make  us  hated  by 
all  the  wives  of  our  neighbors.  No,  my  children, '  con- 
tinued I,  more  gravely,  '  those  gowns  may  be  altered  into 
something  of  a  plainer  cut  ;  for  finery  is  very  unbecom- 
ing in  us,  who  want  the  means  of  decency.  I  do  not 
know  whether  such  flouncing  and  shredding  is  becoming 
even  in  the  rich,  if  we  consider,  upon  a  moderate  calcu- 
lation, that  the  nakedness  of  the  indigent  world  might  be 
clothed  from  the  trimmings  of  the  vain.' 

' '  This  remonstrance  had  the  proper  effect  :  they  went 
with  great  composure,  that  very  instant,  to  change  their 
dress  ;  and  the  next  day  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  finding 
my  daughters,  at  their  own  request,  employed  in  cutting 
up  their  trains  into  Sunday  waistcoats  for  Dick  and  Bill, 
the  two  little  ones  ;  and,  what  was  still  more  satisfac- 
tory, the  gowns  seemed  improved  by  this  curtailing." 
And  again  when  he  discovered  the  two  girls  making  a 
wash  for  their  faces  :  "  My  daughters  seemed  equally 
busy  with  the  rest  ;  and  I  observed  them  for  a  good 
while  cooking  something  over  the  fire.  I  at  first  sup- 
posed they  were  assisting  their  mother,  but  little  Dick 
informed  me  in  a  whisper  that  they  were  making  a  wash 
for  the  face.  Washes  of  all  kinds  I  had  a  natural  anti- 
pathy to  ;  for  I  knew  that,  instead  of  mending  the  com- 
plexion, they  spoil  it.  I  therefore  approached  my  chair 
by  sly  degrees  to  the  fire,  and  grasping  the  poker,  as  if  it 
wanted  mending,  seemingly  by  accident  overturned  the 


xi.]  THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  85 

whole  composition,  and  it  was  too  late  to  begin  an- 
other." 

All  this  is  done  with  such  a  light,  homely  touch,  that 
one  gets  familiarly  to  know  these  people  without  being 
aware  of  it.  There  is  no  insistance.  There  is  no  drag- 
ging you  along  by  the  collar  ;  confronting  you  with  cer- 
tain figures  ;  and  compelling  you  to  look  at  this  and 
study  that.  The  artis£  stands  by  you,  and  laughs  in  his 
quiet  way  ;  and  you  are  laughing  too,  when  suddenly 
you  find  that  human  beings  have  silently  come  into  the 
void  before  you  ;  and  you  know  them  for  friends  ;  and 
even  after  the  vision  has  faded  away,  and  the  beautiful 
light  and  color  and  glory  of  romance-land  have  vanished, 
you  cannot  forget  them.  They  have  become  part  of 
your  life  ;  you  will  take  them  to  the  grave  with  you. 

The  story,  as  every  one  perceives,  has  its  obvious 
blemishes.  "  There  are  an  hundred  faults  in  this 
Thing,"  says  Goldsmith  himself,  in  the  prefixed  Adver- 
tisement. But  more  particularly,  in  the  midst  of  all  the 
impossibilities  taking  place  in  and  around  the  jail,  when 
that  chameleon-like  deus  ex  machina,  Mr.  Jenkinson, 
winds  up  the  tale  in  hot  haste,  Goldsmith  pauses  to  put 
in  a  sort  of  apology.  "  Nor  can  I  go  on  without  a  re- 
flection," he  says  gravely,  "  on  those  accidental  meet- 
ings, which,  though  they  happen  every  day,  seldom  ex- 
cite our  surprise  but  upon  some  extraordinary  occasion. 
To  what  a  fortuitous  concurrence  do  we  not  owe  every 
pleasure  and  convenience  of  our  lives  !  How  many 
seeming  accidents  must  unite  before  we  can  be  clothed  or 
fed  !  The  peasant  must  be  disposed  to  labor,  the  shower 
must  fall,  the  wind  fill  the  merchant's  sail,  or  numbers 
must  want  the  usual  supply."  This  is  Mr.  Thackeray's 
"  simple  rogue"   appearing  again    in  adult    life.     Cer- 


86  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

tainly,  if  our  supply  of  food  and  clothing  depended  on 
such  accidents  as  happened  to  make  the  Vicar's  family 
happy  all  at  once,  there  would  be  a  good  deal  of  shiver- 
ing and  starvation  in  the  world.  Moreover  it  may  be  ad- 
mitted that  on  occasion  Goldsmith's  fine  instinct  deserts 
him  ;  and  even  in  describing  those  domestic  relations 
which  are  the  charm  of  the  novel,  he  blunders  into  the 
unnatural.  When  Mr.  Burchell,  for  example,  leaves  the 
house  in  consequence  of  a  quarrel  with  Mrs.  Primrose, 
the  Vicar  questions  his  daughter  as  to  whether  she  had 
received  from  that  poor  gentleman  any  testimony  of  his 
affection  for  her.  She  replies  No  ;  but  remembers  to 
have  heard  him  remark  that  he  never  knew  a  woman  who 
could  find  merit  in  a  man  that  was  poor.  "  Such,  my 
dear,"  continued  the  Vicar,  "  is  the  common  cant  of  all 
the  unfortunate  or  idle.  But  I  hope  you  have  been 
taught  to  judge  properly  of  such  men,  and  that  it  would 
be  even  madness  to  expect  happiness  from  one  who  has 
been  so  very  bad  an  economist  of  his  own.  Your  moth- 
er and  I  have  now  better  prospects  for  you.  The  next 
winter,  which  you  will  probably  spend  in  town,  will  give 
you  opportunities  of  making  a  more  prudent  choice." 
Now  it  is  not  at  all  likely  that  a  father,  however  anxious 
to  have  his  daughter  well  married  and  settled,  would  ask 
her  so  delicate  a  question  in  open  domestic  circle,  and 
would  then  publicly  inform  her  that  she  was  expected  to 
choose  a  husband  on  her  forthcoming  visit  to  town. 

Whatever  may  be  said  about  any  particular  incident 
like  this,  the  atmosphere  of  the  book  is  true.  Goethe, 
to  whom  a  German  translation  of  the  Vicar  was  read  by 
llerder  some  four  years  after  the  publication  in  England, 
not  only  declared  it  at  the  time  to  be  one  of  the  best 
novels  ever  written,  but  again  and  again  throughout  his 


XI.]  THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  87 

life  reverted  to  the  charm  and  delight  with  which  he  had 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  English  "  prose  idyll,"  and 
took  it  for  granted  that  it  was  a  real  picture  of  English 
life.  Despite  all  the  machinery  of  Mr.  Jenkinson's 
schemes,  who  could  doubt  it  ?  Again  and  again  there 
are  recurrent  strokes  of  >  such  vividness  and  natural- 
ness that  we  yield  altogether  to  the  necromance-.  Look 
at  this  perfect  picture — of  human  emotion  aid  outside 
nature — put  in  in  a  few  sentences.  The  old  clergyman, 
after  being  in  search  of  his  daughter,  has  found  her,  and 
is  now — having  left  her  in  an  inn — returning  to  his  fam- 
ily and  his  home.  "  And  now  my  heart  caught  new 
sensations  of  pleasure,  the  nearer  I  approached  that 
peaceful  mansion.  As  a  bird  that  had  been  frighted 
from  its  nest,  my  affections  outwent  my  haste,  and  hov- 
ered round  my  little  fireside  with  all  the  rapture  of  ex- 
pectation. I  called  up  the  many  fond  things  I  had  to 
say,  and  anticipated  the  welcome  I  was  to  receive.  I 
already  felt  my  wife's  tender  embrace,  and  smiled  at  the 
joy  of  my  little  ones.  As  I  walked  but  slowly,  the  night 
waned  apace.  The  laborers  of  the  day  were  all  retired  to 
rest ;  the  lights  were  out  in  every  cottage  ;  no  sounds 
were .  heard  but  of  the  shrilling  cock,  and  the  deep- 
mouthed  watch-dog  at  hollow  distance.  I  approached 
my  little  abode  of  pleasure,  and,  before  I  was  within  a 
furlong  of  the  place,  our  honest  mastiff  came  running  to 
welcome  me."  "  The  deep-mouthed  watch-dog  at  hol- 
loio  distance" — what  more  perfect  description  of  the 
stillness  of  night  was  ever  given  ? 

And  then  there  are  other  qualities  in  this  delightful 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  than  merely  idyllic  tenderness,  and       y/ 
pathos,  and  sly  humor.     There  is  a  firm  presentation  of 
the  crimes  and  brutalities  of  the   world.     The  pure  light 


88  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

that  shines  within  that  domestic  circle  is  all  the  brighter 
because  of  the  black  outer  ring  that  is  here  and  there  in- 
dicated lather  than  described.  How  could  we  appreciate 
all  the  simplicities  of  the  good  man's  household,  but  for 
the  rogueries  with  which  they  are  brought  in  contact  ? 
And  although  we  laugh  at  Moses  and  his  gross  of  green 
spectacles,  and  the  manner  in  which  the  Vicar's  wife  and 
daughter  are  imposed  on  by  Miss  "Wilhelmina  Skeggs  and 
Lady  Blarney,  with  their  lords  and  ladies  and  their  trib- 
utes to  virtue,  there  is  no  laughter  demanded  of  us  when 
we  find  the  simplicity  and  moral  dignity  of  the  Vicar 
meeting  and  beating  the  jeers  and  taunts  of  the  aban- 
doned wretches  in  the  prison.  This  is  really  a  remark  - 
able  episode.  The  author  was  under  the  obvious  tempta- 
tion to  make  much  comic  material  out  of  the  situation  ; 
while  another  temptation,  towards  the  goody-goody  side, 
was  not  far  off.  But  the  Vicar  undertakes  the  duty  of 
reclaiming  these  castaways  with  a  modest  patience  and 
earnestness  in  every  way  in  keeping  with  his  character  ; 
while  they,  on  the  other  hand,  are  not  too  easily  moved 
to  tears  of  repentance.  His  first  efforts,  it  will  be  re- 
membered, were  not  too  successful.  "  Their  insensibil- 
ity excited  my  highest  compassion,  and  blotted  my  own 
uneasiness  from  my  mind.  It  even  appeared  a  duty  in- 
cumbent upon  me  to  attempt  to  reclaim  them.  I  re- 
solved, therefore,  once  more  to  return,  and,  in  spite  of 
their  contempt,  to  give  them  my  advice,  and  conquer 
them  by  my  perseverance.  Going,  therefore,  among 
them  again,  I  informed  Mr.  Jenkinson  of  my  design,  at 
which  lie  laughed  heartily,  but  communicated  it  to  the 
rest.  The  proposal  was  received  with  the  greatest  good- 
humor,  as  it  promised  to  afford  a  new  fund  of  entertain- 
ment to   persons   who   had  now  no  other  resource  for 


Xi.J  THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  89 

mirth  but  what  could  be  derived  from  ridicule  or  de- 
bauchery. 

1 '  I  therefore  read  them  a  portion  of  the  service  with  a 
loud,  unaffected  voice,  and  found  my  audience  perfectly 
merry  upon  the  occasion.  Lewd  whispers,  groans  of 
contrition  burlesqued,  winking  and  coughing,  alternately 
excited  laughter.  However,  I  continued  with  my  natural 
solemnity  to  read  on,  sensible  that  what  I  did  might 
mend  some,  but  could  itself  receive  no  contamination 
from  any. 

"  After  reading,  I  entered  upon  my  exhortation, 
which  was  rather  calculated  at  first  to  amuse  them  than 
to  reprove.  I  previously  observed,  that  no  other  motive 
but  their  welfare  could  induce  me  to  this  ;  that  I  was 
their  fellow-prisoner,  and  now  got  nothing  by  preaching. 
I  was  sorry,  I  said,  to  hear  them  so  very  profane  ;  be- 
cause they  got  nothing  by  it,  but  might  lose  a  great 
deal  :  '  For  be  assured,  my  friends, '  cried  I — '  for  you 
arc  my  friends,  however  the  world  may  disclaim  your 
friendship — though  you  swore  twelve  thousand  oaths  in 
a  day,  it  would  not  put  one  penny  in  your  purse.  Then 
what  signifies  calling  every  moment  upon  the  devil,  and 
courting  his  friendship,  since  you  find  how  scurvily  he 
uses  you  ?  He  has  given  you  nothing  here,  you  find, 
but  a  mouthful  of  oaths  and  an  empty  belly  ;  and,  by  the 
best  accounts  I  have  of  him,  he  will  give  you  nothing 
that's  good  hereafter. 

"  '  If  used  ill  in  our  dealings  with  one  man,  we  natu- 
rally go  elsewhere.  Were  it  not  worth  your  while,  then, 
just  to  try  how  you  may  like  the  usage  of  another  mas- 
ter, who  gives  you  fair  promises  at  least  to  come  to 
him  ?     Surely,  my  friends,  of  all  stupidity  in  the  world, 

his  must  be  the    greatest,  who,  after    robbing  a  house, 
G  5  20 


90  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

runs  to  the  thief-takers  for  protection.  And  yet,  how 
are  you  more  wise  ?  You  are  all  seeking  comfort  from 
one  that  has  already  betrayed  you,  applying  to  a  more 
malicious  being  than  any  thief-taker  of  them  all  ;  for 
they  only  decoy  and  then  hang  you  ;  but  he  decoys  and 
hangs,  and,  what  is  worst  of  all,  will  not  let  you  loose 
after  the  hangman  has  done. ' 

"  When  I  had  concluded,  I  received  the  compliments 
of  my  audience,  some  of  whom  came  and  shook  me  by 
the  hand,  swearing  that  I  was  a  very  honest  fellow,  and 
that  they  desired  my  further  acquaintance.  I  therefore 
promised  to  repeat  my  lecture  next  day,  and  actually 
conceived  some  hopes  of  making  a  reformation  here  ;  for 
it  had  ever  been  my  opinion,  that  no  man  was  past  the 
hour  of  amendment,  every  heart  lying  open  to  the  shafts 
of  reproof,  if  the  archer  could  but  take  a  proper  aim." 

His  wife  and  children,  naturally  dissuading  him  from 
an  effort  which  seemed  to  them  only  to  bring  ridicule 
upon  him,  are  met  by  a  grave  rebuke  ;  and  on  the  next 
morning  he  descends  to  the  common  prison,  where,  he 
says,  he  found  the  prisoners  very  merry,  expecting  his 
arrival,  and  each  prepared  to  play  some  jail-trick  on  the 
Doctor. 

"  There  was  one  whose  trick  gave  more  universal  pleas- 
ure than  nil  the  rest ;  for,  observing  the  manner  in  which 
I  had  disposed  my  books  on  the  table  before  me,  lie  very 
dexterously  displaced  one  of  them,  and  put  an  obscene 
jest-book  of  his  own  in  the  place.  However,  I  took  no 
nutice  of  all  that  this  mischievous  group  of  little  beings 
could  do,  but  went  on,  perfectly  sensible  that  what  was 
ridiculous  in  my  attempt  would  excite  mirth  only  the  first 
or  second  time,  while  what  was  serious  would  be  perma- 


xr.J  THE  VICAR  OP  WAKEFIELD.  91 

nent.     My  design  succeeded,  and  in  less  than  six  days 
some  were  penitent,  and  all  attentive. 

' '  It  was  now  that  I  applauded  my  perseverance  and  ad- 
dress, at  thus  giving  sensibility  to  wretches  divested  of 
every  moral  feeling,  and  now  began  to  think  of  doing 
them  temporal  services  also,  by  rendering  their  situation 
somewhat  more  comfortable.  Their  time  had  hitherto 
been  divided  between  famine  and  excess,  tumultuous  riot 
and  bitter  repining.  Their  only  employment  was  quarrel- 
ling among  each  other,  playing  at  cribbage,  and  cutting  to- 
bacco-stoppers. From  this  last  mode  of  idle  industry  I 
took  the  hint  of  setting  such  as  choose  to  work  at  cutting 
pegs  for  tobacconists  and  shoemakers,  the  proper  wood 
being  bought  by  a  general  subscription,  and,  when  manu- 
factured, sold  by  my  appointment  ;  so  that  each  earned 
something  every  day — a  trifle  indeed,  but  sufficient  to 
maintain  him. 

' '  I  did  not  stop  here,  but  instituted  fines  for  the  pun- 
ishment of  immorality,  and  rewards  for  peculiar  industry. 
Thus,  in  less  than  a  fortnight  I  had  formed  them  into 
something  social  and  humane,  and  had  the  pleasure  of 
regarding  myself  as  a  legislator  who  had  brought  men 
from  their  native  ferocity  into  friendship  and  obedi- 
ence." 

Of  course,  all  this  about  jails  and  thieves  was  calcu- 
lated to  shock  the  nerves  of  those  who  liked  their  litera- 
ture perfumed  with  rose-water.  Madame  Riccoboni,  to 
whom  Burke  had  sent  the  book,  wrote  to  Garrick,  ' '  Le 
plaidoyer  en  faveur  des  voleurs,  des  petits  larrons,  des 
gens  de  mauvaises  moeurs,  est  fort  eloigne  de  me  plaire. ' ' 
Others,  no  doubt,  considered  the  introduction  of  Miss 
Skeggs  and  Lady  Blarney  as  "vastly  low."  But  the 
curious  thing  is  that  the  literary  critics  of  the  day  seem 


92  GOLDSMITH.  [ciiap. 

to  have  been  altogether  silent  about  the  book — perhaps 
they  were  "  puzzled"  by  it,  as  Southcy  has  suggested. 
Mr.  Forster,  who  took  the  trouble  to  search  the  periodi- 
cal literature  of  the  time,  says  that,  "  apart  from  bald 
recitals  of  the  plot,  not  a  word  was  said  in  the  way  of 
criticism  about  the  book,  cither  in  praise  or  blame." 
The  St.  James's  Chronicle  did  not  condescend  to  notice 
its  appearance,  and  the  Monthly  Review  confessed  frankly 
that  nothing  was  to  be  made  of  it.  The  better  sort  of 
newspapers,  as  well  as  the  more  dignified  reviews,  con- 
temptuously left  it  to  the  patronage  of  Lloyd1  s  Evening 
Post,  the  London  Chronicle,  and  journals  of  that  class  ; 
which  simply  informed  their  readers  that  a  new  novel, 
called  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  had  been  published,  that 
"  the  editor  is  Doctor  Goldsmith,  who  has  affixed  his 
name  to  an  introductory  Advertisement,  and  that  such 
and  such  were  the  incidents  of  the  story."  Even  his 
friends,  with  the  exception  of  Burke,  did  not  seem  to 
consider  that  any  remarkable  new  birth  in  literature  had 
occurred  ;  and  it  is  probable  that  this  was  a  still  greater 
disappointment  to  Goldsmith,  who  was  so  anxious  to  be 
thought  well  of  at  the  Club.  However,  the  public  took 
to  the  story.  A  second  edition  was  published  in  May  ;  a 
third  in  August.  Goldsmith,  it  is  true,  received  no 
pecuniary  gain  from  this  success,  for,  as  we  have  seen, 
Johnson  had  sold  the  novel  outright  to  Francis  New- 
bery  ;  but  his  name  was  growing  in  importance  with  the 
booksellers. 

There  was  need  that  it  should,  for  his  increasing  ex- 
penses^— his  fine  clothes,  his  suppers,  his  whist  at  the 
Devil  Tavern — were  involving  him  in  deeper  and  deeper 
difficulties.  How  was  he  to  extricate  himself  ? — or 
rather  the  question  that  would  naturally  occur  to  Gold- 


XI.]  THE  VICAR  OF  WAKEFIELD.  93 

Smith  was  how  was  "he  to  continue  that  hand-to-mouth 
existence  that  had  its  compensations  along  with  its  trou- 
bles ?  Novels  like  the  Vicar  of  Wakefield  are  not  writ- 
ten at  a  moment's  notice,  even  though  any  Newbery, 
judging  by  results,  is  willing  to  double  that  £60  which 
Johnson  considered  to  be  a  fair  price  for  the  story  at  the 
time.  There  was  the  usual  resource  of  hack-writing  ; 
and,  no  doubt,  Goldsmith  was  compelled  to  fall  back  on 
that,  if  only  to  keep  the  elder  Newbery,  in  whose  debt 
he  was,  in  a  good  humor.  But  the  author  of  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield  may  be  excused  if  he  looked  round  to  see  if 
there  was  not  some  more  profitable  work  for  him  to  turn 
his  hand  to.  It  was  at  this  time  that  he  began  to  think 
of  writing  a  comedy. 


CHAPTER    XTT. 

THE    GOOD-NATURED    MAN. 

Amid  much  miscellaneous  work,  mostly  of  the  compila- 
tion order,  the  play  of  the  Good-natured  Man  began  to 
assume  concrete  form  ;  insomuch  that  Johnson,  always 
the  friend  of  this  erratic  Irishman,  had  promised  to  write 
a  Prologue  for  it.  It  is  with  regard  to  this  prologue  that 
Boswell  tells  a  foolish  and  untrustworthy  story  about 
Goldsmith.  Dr.  Johnson  had  recently  been  honored  by 
an  interview  with  his  Sovereign  ;  and  the  members  of 
the  Club  were  in  the  habit  of  flattering  him  by  begging 
for  a  repetition  of  his  account  of  that  famous  event. 
On  one  occasion,  during  this  recital,  Boswell  relates, 
Goldsmith  "  remained  unmoved  upon  a  sofa  at  some  dis- 
tance, affecting  not  to  join  in  the  least  in  the  eager  curi- 
osity of  the  company.  He  assigned  as  a  reason  for  his 
gloom  and  seeming  inattention  that  lie  apprehended 
Johnson  had  rclinojuishcd  his  purpose  of  furnishing  him 
with  a  prologue  to  his  play,  with  the  hopes  of  which  he 
had  been  nattered  ;  but  it  was  strongly  suspected  that  he 
was  fretting  with  chagrin  and  envy  at  the  singular  honor 
Doctor  Johnson  had  lately  enjoyed.  At  length  the 
frankness  and  simplicity  of  his  natural  character  pre- 
vailed. He  sprang  from  the  sofa,  advanced  to  Johnson, 
and,  in  a  kind  of  flutter,  from  imagining  himself  in  the 


xii.]  THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN.  95 

situation  which  he  had  just  been  hearing  described,  ex- 
claimed, '  Well,  you  acquitted  yourself  in  this  conversa- 
tion better  than  I  should  have  done  ;  for  I  should  have 
bowed  and  stammered  through  the  whole  of  it.'  "  It  is 
obvious  enough  that  the  only  part  of  this  anecdote  which 
is  quite  worthy  of  credence  is  the  actual  phrase  used  by 
Goldsmith,  which  is  full  of  his  customary  generosity  and 
self-depreciation.  All  those  "  suspicions"  of  his  envy  of 
his  friend  may  safely  be  discarded,  for  they  are  mere 
guesswork  ;  even  though  it  might  have  been  natural 
enough  for  a  man  like  Goldsmith,  conscious  of  his  singu- 
lar and  original  genius,  to  measure  himself  against  John- 
son, who  was  merely  a  man  of  keen  perception  and 
shrewd  reasoning,  and  to  compare  the  deference  paid  to 
Johnson  with  the  scant  courtesy  shown  to  himself. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Prologue  was  written  by  Dr. 
Johnson  ;  and  the  now  complete  comedy  was,  after  some 
little  arrangement  of  personal  differences  between  Gold- 
smith and  Garrick,  very  kindly  undertaken  by  Reynolds, 
submitted  for  Garrick's  approval.  But  nothing  came  of 
Reynolds's  intervention.  Perhaps  Goldsmith  resented 
Garrick's  airs  of  patronage  towards  a  poor  devil  of  an 
author  ;  perhaps  Garrick  was  surprised  by  the  manner 
in  which  well-intentioned  criticisms  were  taken  ;  at  all 
events,  after  a  good  deal  of  shilly-shallying,  the  play  was 
taken  out  of  Garrick's  hands.  Fortunately,  a  project  was 
just  at  this  moment  on  foot  for  starting  the  rival  theatre 
in  Covent  Garden,  under  the  management  of  George  Col- 
man  ;  and  to  Colman  Goldsmith's  play  was  forthwith 
consigned.  The  play  was  accepted  ;  but  it  was  a  long 
time  before  it  was  produced  ;  and  in  that  interval  it  may 
fairly  be  presumed  the  res  angusta  domi  of  Goldsmith  did 
not  become  any  more  free  and  generous  than  before.     It 


»f>  GOLDS  MTTH.  [chap. 

was  in  this  interval  that  the  elder  Newbery  died  ;  Gold- 
smith had  one  patron  the  less.  Another  patron  who 
offered  himself  was  civilly  bowed  to  the  door.  This  is 
an  incident  in  Goldsmith's  career  which,  like  his  inter- 
view with  the  Earl  of  Northumberland,  should  ever  be 
remembered  in  his  honor.  The  Government  of  the  day 
were  desirous  of  enlisting  on  their  behalf  the  services  of 
writers  of  somewhat  better  position  than  the  mere  libel- 
lers whose  pens  were  the  slaves  of  anybody's  purse  ;  and 
a  Mr.  Scott,  a  chaplain  of  Lord  Sandwich,  appears  to 
have  imagined  that  it  would  be  worth  while  to  buy  Gold- 
smith. He  applied  to  Goldsmith  in  due  course  ;  and 
this  is  an  account  of  the  interview  :  "  I  found  him  in  a 
miserable  set  of  chambers  in  the  Temple.  I  told  him  my 
authority  ;  I  told  him  I  was  empowered  to  pay  most  lib- 
erally for  his  exertions  ;  and,  would  you  believe  it  !  he 
was  so  absurd  as  to  say,  '  I  can  earn  as  much  as  will  sup- 
ply my  wants  without  writing  for  any  party  ;  the  assist- 
ance you  offer  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  me.'  And  I 
left  him  in  his  garret."  Needy  as  he  was,  Goldsmith 
had  too  much  self-respect  to  become  a  paid  libeller  and 
cutthroat  of  public  reputations. 

On  the  evening  of  Friday,  the  29th  of  January,  1768, 
when  Goldsmith  had  now  reached  the  age  of  forty,  the 
comedy  of  The  Good-natured  Man  was  produced  at  Cov- 
ont  Garden  Theatre.  The  Prologue  had,  according  to 
promise,  been  written  by  Johnson  ;  and  a  very  singular 
prologue  it  was.  Even  Boswell  was  struck  by  the  odd 
contrast  between  this  sonorous  piece  of  melancholy  and 
the  fun  that  was  to  follow.  "  The  first  lines  of  this  Pro- 
logue," he  conscientiously  remarks,  "  are  strongly  char- 
acteristical  of  the  dismal  gloom  of  his  mind  ;  which,  in 
his  case,  as  in  the  case  of  all  who  are  distressed  with  the 


xii.]  THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN.  97 

same  malady  of  imagination,  transfers  to  others  its  own 
feelings.  Who  could  suppose  it  was  to  introduce  a  com- 
edy, when  Mr.  Bensley  solemnly  began — 

"  '  Pressed  with  the  load  of  life,  the  weary  mind 
Surveys  the  general  toil  of  humankind  '  ? 

But  this  dark  ground  might  make  Goldsmith's  humot 
shine  the  more."  When  we  come  to  the  comedy  itself, 
we  find  but  little  bright  humor  in  the  opening  passages. 
The  author  is  obviously  timid,  anxious,  and  constrained. 
There  is  nothing  of  the  brisk,  confident  vivacity  with 
which  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  opens.  The  novice  does 
not  yet  understand  the  art  of  making  his  characters  ex- 
plain themselves  ;  and  accordingly  the  benevolent  uncle 
and  honest  Jarvis  indulge  in  a  conversation  which,  labo- 
riously descriptive  of  the  character  of  young  Honey- 
wood,  is  spoken  "  at  "  the  audience.  With  the  entrance 
of  young  Honeywood  himself,  Goldsmith  endeavors  to 
become  a  little  more  sprightly  ;  but  there  is  still  anxiety 
hanging  over  him,  and  the  epigrams  are  little  more  than 
merely  formal  antitheses. 

"  Jarvis.  This  bill  from  your  tailor  ;  this  from  your  mercer  ; 
and  this  from  the  little  broker  in  Crooked  Lane.  He  says  he 
has  been  at  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  get  back  the  money  you 
borrowed. 

"  Ron.  That  I  don'tknow  ;  butl'm  sure  we  were  at  a  great 
deal  of  trouble  in  getting  him  to  lend  it. 

"Jar.  He  has  lost  all  patience. 

"  Eon.  Then  he  has  lost  a  very  good  thing. 

"Jar.  There's  that  ten  guineas  you  were  sending  to  the  poor 
gentleman  and  his  children  in  the  Fleet.  I  believe  that  would 
stop  his  mouth,  for  a  while  at  least. 

"Hon.  Ay,  Jarvis,  but  what  will  fill  their  mouths  in  the 
meantime?" 

This  young  Honeywood,  the  hero  of  the  play,  is4  and 
5* 


98  GOLDSMITH  [chap. 

remains  throughout,  a  somewhat  ghostly  personage.     He 
has  attributes,  but  no  flesh  or  blood.     There  is   much 
more  substance  in  the  next  character  introduced — the  in- 
imitable   Croaker,    who   revels   in  evil   forebodings  and 
drinks  deep  of  the  luxury  of  woe.     These  are  the  two 
chief   characters  ;   but  then    a   play    must   have  a  plot. 
And  perhaps  it  would  not  be  fair,  so  far  as  the  plot  is 
concerned,  to  judge  of  The  Good-natured  Man  merely  as 
a  literary  production.     Intricacies  that  seem  tedious  and 
puzzling  on  paper   appear   to   be   clear  enough  on  the 
stage  :  it  is  much  more  easy  to  remember  the  history  and 
circumstances  of  a  person  whom  we  see  before  us,  than 
to  attach  these  to  a  mere  name — especially  as  the  name  is 
sure  to  be  clipped  down  from  Honey  wood  to  Hon.  and 
from  Leontine  to  Leon.     However,  it  is  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  cross-purposes  of  the  lovers  that  we  once  more 
come  upon  our  old  friend  Beau  Tibbs — though  Mr.  Tibbs 
is  now   in  much  better  circumstances,  and    has  been  re- 
named by  his  creator  Jack  Lofty.     Garrick  had  objected 
to  the  introduction  of  Jack,  on  the  ground  that  he  was 
only  a  distraction.     But  Goldsmith,  whether  in  writing 
a  novel  or  a  play,  was  more  anxious  to  represent  human 
nature  than  to  prune  a  plot,  and  paid  but  little  respect  to 
the  unities,  if  only  he  could  arouse  our  interest.     And 
who    is    not   delighted    with    this   Jack    Lofty    and    his 
"  duchessy"  talk — his  airs  of  patronage,  his  mysterious 
hints,  his  gay   familiarity   with   the  great,  his  audacious 
lying  ? 

"  Lofty.  Waller  ?    Waller  ?    Is  he  of  the  house  ? 

"  Mrs.  Croaker.  The  modern  poet  of  that  name,  sir. 

"Lof.  Oh,  a  modern  !  We  men  of  business  despise  the  mod- 
erns ;  and  as  for  the  ancients,  we  have  no  time  to  read  them. 
Poetry  is  a  pretty  thing  enough  for  our  wives  and  daughters  * 


xii.]  THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN.  99 

but  not  for  us.  Why  now,  here  I  stand  that  know  nothing  of 
books.  I  say,  madam,  I  know  nothing  of  books  ;  and  yet,  I 
believe,  upon  a  land-carriage  fishery,  a  stamp  act,  or  a  jag- 
hire,  I  can  talk  my  two  hours  without  feeling  the  want  of 
them. 

"  Mrs.  Cro.  The  world  is  no  stranger  to  Mr.  Lofty 's  eminence 
in  every  capacity. 

"Lof.  I  vow  to  gad,  madam,  you  make  me  blush.  I'm  noth- 
ing, nothing,  nothing  in  the  world  ;  a  mere  obscure  gentleman. 
To  be  sure,  indeed,  one  or  two  of  the  present  ministers  are 
pleased  to  represent  me  as  a  formidable  man.  I  know  they  are 
pleased  to  bespatter  me  at  all  their  little  dirty  levees.  Yet, 
upon  my  soul,  I  wonder  what  they  see  in  me  to  treat  me  so  ! 
Measures,  not  men,  have  always  been  my  mark  ;  and  I  vow, 
by  all  that's  honorable,  my  resentment  has  never  done  the 
men,  as  mere  men,  any  manner  of  harm — that  is,  as  mere 
men. 

"Mrs.  Cro.  What  importance,  and  yet  what  modesty  ! 

"  Lof  Oh,  if  you  talk  of  modesty,  madam,  there,  I  own,  I'm 
accessible  to  praise  :  modesty  is  my  foible  :  it  was  so  the  Duke 
of  Brentford  used  to  say  of  me.  '  I  love  Jack  Lofty, '  he  used 
to  say  :  '  no  man  has  a  finer  knowledge  of  things  ;  quite  a 
man  of  information  ;  and  when  he  speaks  upon  his  legs, 
by  the  Lord  he's  prodigious,  he  scouts  them  ;  and  yet  all 
men  have  their  faults  ;  too  much  modesty  is  his, '  says  his 
grace. 

"Mrs.  Cro.  And  yet,  I  dare  say,  you  don't  want  assurance 
when  you  come  to  solicit  for  your  friends. 

"  Lof.  Oh,  there  indeed  I'm  in  bronze.  Apropos  !  I  have 
just  been  mentioning  Miss  Richland's  case  to  a  certain  person- 
age ;  we  must  name  no  names.  When  I  ask,  I  am  not  to  be 
put  off,  madam.  No,  no,  I  take  my  friend  by  the  button.  A 
fine  girl,  sir  ;  great  justice  in  her  case.  A  friend  of  mine — 
borough  interest — business  must  be  done,  Mr.  Secretary. — I 
say,  Mr.  Secretary,  her  business  must  be  done,  sir.  That's  my 
way,  madam. 

"  Mrs.  Cro.  Bless  me  !  you  said  all  this  to  the  Secretary  of 
State,  did  you  ? 

"  Lof.  I  did  not  say  the  Secretary,  did  I?    Well,  curse  it, 


/OO  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

since  you  have  found  me  out,  I  will  not  deny  it.     It  was  to  the 
Secretary." 

Strangely  enough,  what  may  now  seem  to  some  of  us 
the  very  best  scene  in  the  Good-natured  Man — the 
scene,  that  is,  in  which  young  Iloncywood,  suddenly 
finding  Miss  Richland  without,  is  compelled  to  dress  up 
the  two  bailiffs  in  possession  of  his  house  and  introduce 
them  to  her  as  gentlemen  friends — was  very  nearly  damn- 
ing the  play  on  the  first  night  of  its  production.  The  pit 
was  of  opinion  that  it  was  "  low  ;"  and  subsequently  the 
critics  took  up  the  cry,  and  professed  themselves  to  be  so 
deeply  shocked  by  the  vulgar  humors  of  the  bailiffs  that 
Goldsmith  had  to  cut  them  out.  But  on  the  opening 
night  the  anxious  author,  who  had  been  rendered  nearly 
distracted  by  the  cries  and  hisses  produced  by  this  scene, 
was  somewhat  reassured  when  the  audience  began  to 
laugh  again  over  the  tribulations  of  Mr.  Croaker.  To 
the  actor  who  played  the  part  he  expressed  his  warm 
gratitude  when  the  piece  was  over  ;  assuring  him  that  he 
had  exceeded  his  own  conception  of  the  character,  and 
that  "  the  fine  comic  richness  of  his  coloring  made  it 
almost  appear  as  new  to  him  as  to  any  other  person  in  the 
house. ' ' 

The  new  play  had  been  on  the  whole  favorably  re- 
ceived ;  and,  when  Goldsmith  went  along  afterwards  to 
the  Club,  his  companions  were  doubtless  not  at  al!  sur- 
prised to  find  him  in  good  spirits.  He  was  even  merrier 
than  usual,  and  consented  to  sing  his  favorite  ballad 
about  the  Old  Woman  tossed  in  a  Blanket.  But  those 
hisses  and  cries  were  still  rankling  in  his  memory  ;  and 
he  himself  subsequently  confessed  that  he  was  "  suffer- 
ing horrid  tortures."  Nay,  when  the  other  members  of 
the  Club  had  gone,  leaving  him  and  Johnson  together, 


xii.]  THE  GOOD-NATURED  MAN.  101 

he  ' '  burst  out  a-crying,  and  even  swore  by that  he 

would  never  write  again."  When  Goldsmith  told  this 
story  in  after-days,  Johnson  was  naturally  astonished  ; 
perhaps — himself  not  suffering  much  from  an  excessive 
sensitiveness — he  may  have  attributed  that  little  burst  of 
hysterical  emotion  to  the  excitement  of  the  evening  in- 
creased by  a  glass  or  two  of  punch,  and  determined 
therefore  never  to  mention  it.  "  All  which,  Doctor," 
he  said,  ' '  I  thought  had  been  a  secret  between  you  and 
me  ;  and  I  am  sure  I  would  not  have  said  any  thing  about 
it  for  the  world."  Indeed  there  was  little  to  cry  over, 
either  in  the  first  reception  of  the  piece  or  in  its  subse- 
quent fate.  With  the  offending  bailiffs  cut  out,  the  com- 
edy would  seem  to  have  been  very  fairly  successful.  The 
proceeds  of  three  of  the  evenings  were  Goldsmith's  pay- 
ment ;  and  in  this  manner  he  received  £400.  Then 
Griffin  published  the  play  ;  and  from  this  source  Gold- 
smith received  an  additional  £100  ;  so  that  altogether  he 
was  very  well  paid  for  his  work.  Moreover  he  had  ap- 
pealed against  the  judgment  of  the  pit  and  the  dramatic 
critics,  by  printing  in  the  published  edition  the  bailiff 
scene  which  had  been  removed  from  the  stage  ;  and  the 
Monthly  Review  was  so  extremely  kind  as  to  say  that 
"  the  bailiff  and  his  blackguard  follower  appeared  intol- 
erable on  the  stage,  yet  we  are  not  disgusted  with  them 
in  the  perusal."  Perhaps  we  have  grown  less  scrupulous 
since  then  ;  but  at  all  events  it  would  be  difficult  for  any- 
body nowadays  to  find  any  thing  but  good-natured  fun 
in  that  famous  scene.  There  is  an  occasional  "  damn," 
it  is  true  ;  but  then  English  officers  have  always  been 
permitted  that  little  playfulness,  and  these  two  gentlemen 
were  supposed  to  "  serve  in  the  Fleet ;"  while  if  they 
had  been  particularly  refined  in  their  speech  and  manner, 


103  GOLDSMITH.  [chap,  xti.] 

how  could  the  author  have  aroused  Miss  Richland's  sus- 
picions ?  It  is  possible  that  the  two  actors  who  played 
the  bailiff  and  his  follower  may  have  introduced  some 
vulgar  "  gag"  into  their  parts  ;  but  there  is  no  warranty 
for  auv  thing  of  the  kind  in  the  play  as  we  now  read  it. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

GOLDSMITH    IN    SOCIETY. 

The  appearance  of  the  Good-natured  Man  ushered  in 
a  halcyon  period  in  Goldsmith's  life.  The  Traveller  and 
the  Vicar  had  gained  for  him  only  reputation  :  this  new 
comedy  put  £500  in  his  pocket.  Of  course  that  was  too 
big  a  sum  for  Goldsmith  to  have  about  him  long.  Four- 
fifths  of  it  he  immediately  expended  on  the  purchase  and 
decoration  of  a  set  of  chambers  in  Brick  Court,  Middle 
Temple  ;  with  the  remainder  he  appears  to  have  begun  a 
series  of  entertainments  in  this  new  abode,  which  were 
perhaps  more  remarkable  for  their  mirth  than  their  deco- 
rum. There  was  no  sort  of  frolic  in  which  Goldsmith 
would  not  indulge  for  the  amusement  of  his  guests  ;  he 
would  sing  them  songs  ;  he  would  throw  his  wig  to  the 
ceiling  ;  he  would  dance  a  minuet.  And  then  they  had 
cards,  forfeits,  blind-man's-buff,  until  Mr.  Blackstone, 
then  engaged  on  his  Commentaries  in  the  rooms  below, 
was  driven  nearly  mad  by  the  uproar.  These  parties 
would  seem  to  have  been  of  a  most  nondescript  character 
— chance  gatherings  of  any  obscure  authors  or  actors 
whom  he  happened  to  meet ;  but  from  time  to  time  there 
were  more  formal  entertainments,  at  which  Johnson, 
Percy,  and  similar  distinguished  persons  were  present. 
Moreover,   Dr.    Goldsmith  himself  was  much  asked   out 


104  GOLDSMITH.  [chai\ 

to  dinner  too  ;  and  so,  not  content  with  the  "  Tyrian 
bloom,  satin  grain  and  garter,  blue-silk  breeches,"  which 
Mr.  Filby  had  provided  for  the  evening  of  the  production 
of  the  comedy,  he  now  had  another  suit  "  lined  with 
silk,  and  gold  buttons,"  that  he  might  appear  in  proper 
guise.  Then  he  had  his  airs  of  consequence  too.  This 
was  his  answer  to  an  invitation  from  Kelly,  who  was  his 
rival  of  the  hour  :  "  I  would  with  pleasure  accept  your 
kind  invitation,  but  to  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear  boy, 
my  Traveller  has  found  me  a  home  in  so  many  places, 
that  I  am  engaged,  I  believe,  three  days.  Let  me  see. 
To-day  I  dine  with  Edmund  Burke,  to-morrow  with  Dr. 
Nugent,  and  the  next  day  with  Topham  Beauclerc  ;  but 
I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do  for  you,  I'll  dine  with  you  on 
Saturday."  Kelly  told  this  story  as  against  Goldsmith  ; 
but  surely  there  is  not  so  much  ostentation  in  the  reply. 
Directly  after  Tristram  Shandy  was  published,  Sterne 
found  himself  fourteen  deep  in  dinner  engagements  : 
why  should  not  the  author  of  the  Traveller  and  the  Vicar 
and  the  Good-natured  Man  have  his  engagements  also  ? 
And  perhaps  it  was  but  right  that  Mr.  Kelly,  who  was 
after  all  only  a  critic  and  scribbler,  though  he  had  writ- 
ten a  play  which  was  for  the  moment  enjoying  an  unde- 
served popularity,  should  be  given  to  understand  that  Dr. 
Goldsmith  was  not  to  be  asked  to  a  hole-and-corner  chop 
at  a  moment's  notice.  To-day  he  dines  with  Mr. 
Burke  ;  to-morrow  with  Dr.  Nugent  ;  the  day  after  with 
Mr.  Beauclerc.  If  you  wish  to  have  the  honor  of  his 
company,  you  may  choose  a  day  after  that  ;  and  then, 
with  his  new  wig,  with  his  coat  of  Tyrian  bloom  and 
blue-silk  breeches,  with  a  smart  sword  at  his  side,  his 
gold-headed  cane  in  his  hand,  and  his  hat  under  his 
elbow,  he  will  present  himself  in  due  course.     Dr.  Gold- 


Xln.  1  GOLDSMITH  IN  SOCIETY.  105 

smith  is  announced,  and  makes  his  grave  bow  :  this  is 
the  man  of  genius  about  whom  all  the  town  is  talking  ; 
the  friend  of  Burke,  of  Reynolds,  of  Johnson,  of  Ho- 
garth ;  this  is  not  the  ragged  Irishman  who  was  some 
time  ago  earning  a  crust  by  running  errands  for  an  apoth- 
ecary. 

Goldsmith's  grand  airs,  however,  were  assumed  but 
seldom  ;  and  they  never  imposed  on  anybody.  His  ac- 
quaintances treated  him  with  a  familiarity  which  testified 
rather  to  his  good-nature  than  to  their  good  taste.  Now 
and  again,  indeed,  he  was  prompted  to  resent  this 
familiarity  ;  but  the  effort  was  not  successful.  In  the 
"  high  jinks"  to  which  he  good-humoredly  resorted  for 
the  entertainment  of  his  guests  he  permitted  a  freedom 
which  it  was  afterwards  not  very  easy  to  discard  ;  and  as 
he  was  always  ready  to  make  a  butt  of  himself  for  the 
amusement  of  his  friends  and  acquaintances,  it  came  to 
be  recognized  that  anybody  was  allowed  to  play  off  a 
joke  on  "Goldy."  The  jokes,  such  of  them  as  have 
been  put  on  record,  are  of  the  poorest  sort.  The  horse- 
collar  is  never  far  off.  One  gladly  turns  from  these  dis- 
mal humors  of  the  tavern  and  the  club  to  the  picture  of 
Goldsmith's  enjoying  what  he  called  a  "  Shoemaker's 
Holiday"  in  the  company  of  one  or  two  chosen  inti- 
mates. Goldsmith,  baited  and  bothered  by  the  wits  of  a 
public-house,  became  a  different  being  when  he  had 
assumed  the  guidance  of  a  small  party  of  chosen  friends 
bent  on  having  a  day's  frugal  pleasure.  We  are  in- 
debted to  one  Cooke,  a  neighbor  of  Goldsmith's  in  the 
Temple,  not  only  for  a  most  interesting  description  of 
one  of  those  shoemaker's  holidays,  but  also  for  the 
knowledge  that  Goldsmith  had  even  now  begun  writing 

the  Deserted  Village,  which  was  not  published  till  17  70, 
H  21 


106  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

two  years  later.  Goldsmith,  though  he  could  turn  out 
plenty  of  manufactured  stuff  for  the  booksellers,  worked 
slowly  at  the  special  story  or  poem  with  which  he  meant 
to  "  strike  for  honest  fame."  This  Mr.  Cooke,  calling 
on  him  one  morning,  discovered  that  Goldsmith  had  that 
day  written  these  ten  lines  of  the  Deserted  Village  : 

"  Dear  lovely  bowers  of  innocence  and  ease, 
Seats  of  my  youth,  when  every  sport  could  please, 
How  often  have  I  loitered  o'er  thy  green, 
Where  humble  happiness  endeared  each  scene  ! 
How  often  have  I  paused  on  every  charm, 
The  sheltered  cot,  the  cultivated  farm, 
The  never-failing  brook,  the  busy  mill, 
The  decent  church,  that  topt  the  neighboring  hill, 
The  hawthorn  bush,  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made  !" 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "  let  me  tell  you  this  is  no  bad  morn- 
ing's work  ;  and  now,  my  dear  boy,  if  you  are  not  better 
engaged,  I  should  be  glad  to  enjoy  a  shoemaker's  holiday 
with  you."  "  A  shoemaker's  holiday,"  continues  the 
writer  of  these  reminiscences,  "  was  a  day  of  great  festivity 
to  poor  Goldsmith,  and  was  spent  in  the  following  inno- 
cent manner  :  Three  or  four  of  his  intimate  friends  ren- 
dezvoused at  his  chambers  to  breakfast  about  ten  o'clock  in 
the  morning  ;  at  eleven  they  proceeded  by  the  City  Road 
and  through  the  fields  to  Highbury  Barn  to  dinner  ; 
about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  they  adjourned  to  White 
Conduit  House  to  drink  tea  ;  and  concluded  by  supping 
at  the  Grecian  or  Temple  Exchange  coffee-house  or  at  the 
Globe  in  Fleet  Street.  There  was  a  very  good  ordinary 
of  two  dishes  and  pastry  kept  at  Highbury  Barn  about 
this  time  at  tenpence  per  head,  including  a  penny  to  the 
waiter  ;  and  the  company  generally  consisted  of  literary 
characters,  a  few  Templars,  and  some  citizens  who  had 


xiii.]  GOLDSMITH  IN  SOCIETY.  107 

left  off  trade.  The  whole  expenses  of  the  day's  fete 
never  exceeded  a  crown,  and  oftener  were  from  three- 
and-sixpence  to  four  shillings  ;  for  which  the  party  ob- 
tained good  air  and  exercise,  good  living,  the  example  of 
simple  manners,  and  good  conversation." 

It  would  have  been  well  indeed  for  Goldsmith  had  he 
been  possessed  of  sufficient  strength  of  character  to  re- 
main satisfied  with  these  simple  pleasures,  and  to  have 
lived  the  quiet  and  modest  life  of  a  man  of  letters  on 
such  income  as  he  could  derive  from  the  best  work  he 
could  produce.  But  it  is  this  same  Mr.  Cooke  who  gives 
decisive  testimony  as  to  Goldsmith's  increasing  desire  to 
"  shine"  by  imitating  the  expenditure  of  the  great  ;  the 
natural  consequence  of  which  was  that  he  only  plunged 
himself  into  a  morass  of  debt,  advances,  contracts  for 
hack-work,  and  misery.  His  debts  rendered  him  at 
times  so  melancholy  and  dejected,  that  I  am  sure  he  felt 
himself  a  very  unhappy  man."  Perhaps  it  was  with 
some  sudden  resolve  to  fiee  from  temptation,  and  grapple 
with  the  difficulties  that  beset  him,  that  he,  in  conjunc- 
tion with  another  Temple  neighbor,  Mr.  Bott,  rented  a 
cottage  some  eight  miles  down  the  Edgware  Road  ;  and 
here  he  set  to  work  on  the  History  of  Rome,  which  he 
was  writing  for  Davies.  Apart  from  this  hack-work, 
now  rendered  necessary  by  his  debt,  it  is  probable  that 
one  strong  inducement  leading  him  to  this  occasional 
seclusion  was  the  progress  he  might  be  able  to  make  with 
the  Deserted  Village.  Amid  all  his  town  gayeties  and 
country  excursions,  amid  his  dinners  and  suppers  and 
dances,  his  borrowings,  and  contracts,  and  the  hurried 
literary  produce  of  the  moment,  he  never  forgot  what 
was  due  to  his  reputation  as  an  English  poet.  The  jour- 
nalistic bullies  of  the  day  might  vent  their  spleen  and 


108  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

envy  on  him  ;  his  best  friends  might  smile  at  his  conver- 
sational failures  ;  the  wits  of  the  tavern  might  put  up  the 
horse-collar  as  before  ;  but  at  least  he  had  the  consolation 
of  his  art.  No  one  better  knew  than  himself  the  value 
of  those  finished  and  musical  lines  he  was  gradually  add- 
ing to  the  beautiful  poem,  the  grace,  and  sweetness,  and 
tender,  pathetic  charm  of  which  make  it  one  of  the  lit- 
erary treasures  of  the  English  people. 

The  sorrows  of  debt  were  not  Goldsmith's  only  trouble 
at  this  time.  For  some  reason  or  other  he  seems  to  have 
become  the  especial  object  of  spiteful  attack  on  the  part 
of  the  literary  cutthroats  of  the  day.  And  Goldsmith, 
though  he  might  listen  with  respect  to  the  wise  advice  of 
Johnson  on  such  matters,  was  never  able  to  cultivate 
Johnson's  habit  of  absolute  indifference  to  any  thing  that 
might  be  said  or  sung  of  him.  "  The  Kenricks,  Camp- 
bells, MacNicols,  and  Hendersons,"  says  Lord  Macaulay 
■ — speaking  of  Johnson,  "  did  their  best  to  annoy  him,  in 
the  hope  that  he  would  give  them  importance  by  answer- 
ing them.  But  the  reader  will  in  vain  search  his  works 
for  any  allusion  to  Kenriek  or  Campbell,  to  MacNicol  or 
Henderson.  One  Scotchman,  bent  on  vindicating  the 
fame  of  Scotch  learning,  defied  him  to  the  combat  in  a 
detestable  Latin  hexameter — 

'  Maxime,  si  tu  vis,  eupio  contendere  tecum. ' 

But  Johnson  took  no  notice  of  the  challenge.  He  had 
learned,  both  from  his  own  observation  and  from  literary 
history,  in  which  he  was  deeply  read,  that  the  place  of 
books  in  the  public  estimation  is  fixed,  not  by  what  is 
written  about  them,  but  by  what  is  written  in  them  ;  and 
that  an  author  whose  works  are  likely  to  live  is  very 
unwise   if   he   stoops  to   wrangle   with    detractors  whose 


xhi.J  GOLDSMITH  IN  SOCIETY.  109 

works  are  certain  to  die.  He  always  maintained  that 
fame  was  a  shuttlecock  which  could  be  kept  up  only  by 
being  beaten  back,  as  well  as  beaten  forward,  and  which 
would  soon  fall  if  there  were  only  one  battledore.  No 
saying  was  oftener  in  his  mouth  than  that  fine  apoph- 
thegm of  Bentley,  that  no  man  was  ever  written  down 
but  by  himself. ' ' 

It  was  not  given  to  Goldsmith  to  feel  ' '  like  the  Monu- 
ment "  on  any  occasion  whatsoever.  He  was  anxious  to 
have  the  esteem  of  his  friends  ;  he  was  sensitive  to  a 
degree  ;  denunciation  or  malice,  begotten  of  envy  that 
Johnson  would  have  passed  unheeded,  wounded  him  to 
the  quick.  "The  insults  to  which  he  had  to  submit," 
Thackeray  wrote  with  a  quick  and  warm  sympathy,  "  arc 
shocking  to  read  of — slander,  contumely,  vulgar  satire, 
brutal  malignity  perverting  his  commonest  motives  and 
actions  :  he  had  his  share  of  these,  and  one's  anger  is 
roused  at  reading  of  them,  as  it  is  at  seeing  a  woman 
insulted  or  a  child  assaulted,  at  the  notion  that  a  creature 
so  very  gentle,  and  weak,  and  full  of  love  should  have 
had  to  suffer  so."  Goldsmith's  revenge,  his  defence  of 
himself,  his  appeal  to  the  public,  were  the  Traveller,  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield,  the  Deserted  Village ;  but  these 
came  at  long  intervals  ;  and  in  the  meantime  he  had  to 
bear  with  the  anonymous  malignity  that  pursued  him  as 
best  he  might.  No  doubt,  when  Burke  was  entertaining 
him  at  dinner,  and  when  Johnson  was  openly  deferring 
to  him  in  conversation  at  the  Club,  and  when  Reynolds 
was  painting  his  portrait,  he  could  afford  to  forget  Mr. 
Kenrick  and  the  rest  of  the  libelling  clan. 

The  occasions  on  which  Johnson  deferred  to  Goldsmith 
in  conversation  were  no  doubt  few  ;  but  at  all  events  the 
bludgeon  of  the  great  Cham  would  appear  to  have  come 


110  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

down  loss  frequently  on  "  honest  Goldy"  than  on  the 
other  members  of  that  famous  coterie.  It  could  come 
down  heavily  enough.  "  Sir,"  said  an  incautious  per- 
son, "  drinking  drives  away  care,  and  makes  us  forget 
whatever  is  disagreeable.  Would  not  you  allow  a  man  to 
drink  for  that  reason  ?"  "Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply, 
"  if  he  sat  next  you.''''  Johnson,  however,  was  consider- 
ate towards  Goldsmith,  partly  because  of  his  affection  for 
him,  and  partly  because  he  saw  under  what  disadvantages 
Goldsmith  entered  the  lists.  For  one  thing,  the  conver- 
sation of  those  evenings  would  seem  to  have  drifted  con- 
tinually into  the  mere  definition  of  phrases.  Now  John- 
son had  spent  years  of  his  life,  during  the  compilation  of 
his  Dictionary,  in  doing  nothing  else  but  defining  ;  and, 
whenever  the  dispute  took  a  phraseological  turn,  he  had 
it  all  his  own  way.  Goldsmith,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
apt  to  become  confused  in  his  eager  self-consciousness. 
"  Goldsmith,"  said  Johnson  to  Boswell,  "  should  not  be 
forever  attempting  to  shine  in  conversation  ;  he  has  not 
temper  for  it,  he  is  so  much  mortified  when  he  fails.  .  . 
When  he  contends,  if  he  gets  the  better,  it  is  a  very 
little  addition  to  a  man  of  his  literary  reputation  :  if 
he  does  not  get  the  better,  he  is  miserably  vexed." 
Boswell,  nevertheless,  admits  that  Goldsmith  was  "  often 
very  fortunate  in  his  witty  contests,  even  when  he  en- 
tered the  lists  with  Johnson  himself,"  and  goes  on  to  tell 
how  Goldsmith,  relating  the  fable  of  the  little  fishes  who 
petitioned  Jupiter,  and  perceiving  that  Johnson  was 
laughing  at  him,  immediately  said,  "  Why,  Dr.  Johnson, 
this  is  not  so  easy  as  you  seem  to  think  ;  for  if  you  were 
to  make  little  fishes  talk,  they  would  talk  like  whales." 
Who  but  Goldsmith  would  have  dared  to  play  jokes  on 
the  sage  ?      At    supper  they  have  rumps    and  kidneys. 


xiii.]  GOLDSMITH  IN  SOCIETY.  Ill 

The  sage  expresses  his  approval  of  "  the  pretty  little 
things  ;"  but  profoundly  observes  that  one  must  eat  a 
good  many  of  them  before  being  satisfied.  "  Ay,  but 
how  many  of  them,"  asks  Goldsmith,  "  would  reach  to 
the  moon?"  The  sage  professes  his  ignorance;  and, 
indeed,  remarks  that  that  would  exceed  even  Goldsmith's 
calculations  ;  when  the  practical  joker  observes,  "  Why, 
one,  sir,  if  it  were  long  enough."  Johnson  was  com- 
pletely beaten  on  this  occasion.  "  Well,  sir,  I  have  de- 
served it.  I  should  not  have  provoked  so  foolish  an  an- 
swer by  so  foolish  a  cpiestion." 

It  was  Johnson  himself,  moreover,  who  told  the  story 
of  Goldsmith  and  himself  being  in  Poets'  Corner  ;  of  his 
saying  to  Goldsmith, 

"  Forsitan  et  nostrum  nomen  miscebitur  istis," 

and  of  Goldsmith  subsequently  repeating  the  quotation 
when,  having  walked  towards  Fleet  Street,  they  were 
confronted  by  the  heads  on  Temple  Bar.  Even  when 
Goldsmith  was  opinionated  and  wrong,  Johnson's  con- 
tradiction was  in  a  manner  gentle.  ' '  If  you  put  a  tub 
full  of  blood  into  a  stable,  the  horses  are  like  to  2:0 
mad, ' '  observed  Goldsmith.  ' '  I  doubt  that, ' '  was  John- 
son's reply.  "  Nay,  sir,  it  is  a  fact  well  authenticated." 
Here  Thralc  interposed  to  suggest  that  Goldsmith  should 
have  the  experiment  tried  in  the  stable  ;  but  Johnson 
merely  said  that,  if  Goldsmith  began  making  these  ex- 
periments, he  would  never  get  his  book  written  at  all. 
Occasionally,  of  course,  Goldsmith  was  tossed  and  gored 
just  like  another.  "  But,  sir,"  he  had  ventured  to  say, 
in  opposition  to  Johnson,  "  when  people  live  together 
who  have  something  as  to  which  they  disagree,  and 
which  they  want  to  shun,  they  will  be  in  the  situation 


112  GOLDSMITH.  [chap.  xiii. 

mentioned  in  the  story  of  Bluebeard,  '  Yon  may  look 
into  all  the  chambers  but  one.'  But  we  should  have  the 
greatest  inclination  to  look  into  that  chamber,  to  talk  of 
that  subject."  Here,  according  to  Boswell,  Johnson 
answered  in  a  loud  voice,  "  Sir,  I  am  not  saying  that  you 
could  live  in  friendship  with  a  man  from  whom  you  differ 
as  to  one  point  ;  I  am  only  saying  that  /  could  do  it." 
But  then  again  he  could  easily  obtain  pardon  from  the 
gentle  Goldsmith  for  any  occasional  rudeness.  One  even- 
ing they  had  a  sharp  passage  of  arms  at  dinner  ;  and 
thereafter  the  company  adjourned  to  the  Club,  where 
Goldsmith  sat  silent  and  depressed.  "  Johnson  per- 
ceived this, ' '  says  Boswell,  ' '  and  said  aside  to  some  of 
us,  '  I'll  make  Goldsmith  forgive  me  ;'  and  then  called 
to  him  in  a  loud  voice,  '  Dr.  Goldsmith,  something 
passed  to-day  where  you  and  I  dined  :  I  ask  your  par- 
don.' Goldsmith  answered  placidly,  'It  must  be  much 
from  you,  sir,  that  I  take  ill.'  And  so  at  once  the  differ- 
ence was  over,  and  they  were  on  as  easy  terms  as  ever, 
and  Goldsmith  rattled  away  as  usual."  For  the  rest, 
Johnson  was  the  constant  and  doughty  champion  of 
Goldsmith  as  a  man  of  letters.  He  would  sutler  no  one 
to  doubt  the  power  and  versatility  of  that  genius  which 
he  had  been  amongst  the  first  to  recognize  and  encour- 
age. 

"  Whether,  indeed,  we  take  him  as  a  poet,  as  a  comic 
writer,  or  as  an  historian,"  he  announced  to  an  assem- 
blage of  distinguished  persons  met  together  at  dinner  at 
Mr.  Beauelerc's,  "  he  stands  in  the  first  class."  And 
there  was  no  one  living  who  dared  dispute  the  verdict — 
.it  least  in  Johnson's  hearing. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE    DESERTED  VILLAGE. 


But  it  is  time  to  return  to  the  literary  performances 
that  gained  for  this  uncouth  Irishman  so  great  an 
amount  of  consideration  from  the  first  men  of  his  time. 
The  engagement  with  Griffin  ahout  the  JIuiori/  of 
Animated -Nature  was  made  at  the  beginning  of  1769. 
The  work  was  to  occupy  eight  volumes  ;  and  Dr.  Gold- 
smith was  to  receive  eight  hundred  guineas  for  the  com- 
plete copyright.  Whether  the  undertaking  was  origi- 
nally a  suggestion  of  Griffin's,  or  of  Goldsmith's  own, 
does  not  appear.  If  it  was  the  author's,  it  was  probably 
only  the  first  means  that  occurred  to  him  of  getting  an- 
other advance  ;  and  that  advance — £500  on  account — he 
did  actually  get.  But  if  it  was  the  suggestion  of  the 
publisher,  Griffin  must  have  been  a  bold  man.  A  writer 
whose  acquaintance  with  animated  nature  was  such  as  to 
allow  him  to  make  the  "  insidious  tiger"  a  denizen  of 
the  backwoods  of  Canada,1  was  not  a  very  safe  authority. 
But  perhaps  Griffin  had  consulted  Johnson  before  mak- 
ing this  bargain  ;  and  we  know  that  Johnson,  though 
continually  remarking  on  Goldsmith's  extraordinary  ig- 
norance of  facts,  was  of  opinion  that  the  History  of  Ani- 

1  Sec  Citizen  of  (he  World,  Letter  XVII. 
9 


114  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

wntcd  Nature  would  be  "as  entertaining  as  a  Persian 
tale."  However,  Goldsmith — no  doubt  after  he  had 
spent  the  five  hundred  guineas — tackled  the  work  in  ear- 
nest. When  Boswell  subsequently  went  out  to  call  on 
him  at  another  rural  retreat  he  had  taken  on  the  Edgware 
Road,  Boswell  and  Mickle,  the  translator  of  the  Lusiad, 
found  Goldsmith  from  home:  "but,  having  a  curi- 
osity to  see  his  apartment,  we  went  in  and  found  curious 
scraps  of  descriptions  of  animals  scrawled  upon  the  wall 
with  a  black-lead  pencil."  Meanwhile,  this  Animated 
Nature  being  in  hand,  the  Roman  History  was  pub- 
lished, and  was  very  well  received  by  the  critics  and  by 
the  public.  "  Goldsmith's  abridgment,"  Johnson  de- 
clared, "  is  better  than  that  of  Lucius  Floras  or  Eutro- 
pius  ;  and  I  will  venture  to  say  that  if  you  compare  him 
with  Vertot,  in  the  same  places  of  the  Roman  History, 
you  will  find  that  he  excels  Vertot.  Sir,  he  has  the  art 
of  compiling,  and  of  saying  every  thing  he  has  to  say  in  a 
pleasing  manner." 

So  thought  the  booksellers  too  ;  and  the  success  of  the 
Roman  History  only  involved  him  in  fresh  projects  of 
compilation.  By  an  offer  of  £500  Davies  induced  him 
to  lay  aside  for  the  moment  the  Animated  Nature  and 
begin  "  An  History  of  England,  from  the  Birth  of  the 
British  Empire  to  the  death  of  George  the  Second,  in 
four  volumes  octavo."  He  also  about  this  time  under- 
took to  write  a  Life  of  Thomas  Parnell.  Here,  indeed, 
was  plenty  of  work,  and  work  promising  good  pay  ;  but 
the  depressing  thing  is  that  Goldsmith  should  have  been 
the  man  who  had  to  do  it.  He  may  have  done  it  better 
than  any  one  else  could  have  done — indeed,  looking  over 
the  results  of  all  that  drudgery,  we  recognize  now  the  hap- 
py turns  of  expression  which  were  never  long  absent  from 


xiv.]  THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  115 

Goldsmith's  prose-writing — but  the  world  could  well 
afford  to  sacrifice  all  the  task-work  thus  got  through  for 
another  poem  like  the  Deserted  Village  or  the  Traveller. 
Perhaps  Goldsmith  considered  he  was  making  a  fair  com- 
promise when,  for  the  sake  of  his  reputation,  he  devoted 
a  certain  portion  of  his  time  to  his  poetical  work,  and 
then,  to  have  money  for  fine  clothes  and  high  jinks,  gave 
the  rest  to  the  booksellers.  One  critic,  on  the  appear- 
ance of  the  Roman  History,  referred  to  the  Traveller, 
and  remarked  that  it  was  a  pity  that  the  "  author  of  one 
of  the  best  poems  that  has  appeared  since  those  of  Mr. 
Tope,  should  not  apply  wholly  to  works  of  imagina- 
tion." We  may  echo  that  regret  now  ;  but  Goldsmith 
would  at  the  time  have  no  doubt  replied  that,  if  he  had 
trusted  to  his  poems,  he  would  never  have  been  able  to 
pay  £400  for  chambers  in  the  Temple.  In  fact  he  said 
as  much  to  Lord  Lisburn  at  one  of  the  Academy  din- 
ners :  "  I  cannot  afford  to  court  the  draggle-tail  muses, 
my  Lord  ;  they  would  let  me  starve  ;  but  by  my  other 
labors  I  can  make  shift  to  eat,  and  drink,  and  have  good 
clothes."  And  there  is  little  use  in  our  regretting  now 
that  Goldsmith  was  not  cast  in  a  more  heroic  mould  ;  we 
have  to  take  him  as  he  is  ;  and  be  grateful  for  what  he 
has  left  us. 

It  is  a  grateful  relief  to  turn  from  these  booksellers' 
contracts  and  forced  labors  to  the  sweet  clear  note  of 
singing  that  one  finds  in  the  Deserted  Village.  This 
poem,  after  having  been  repeatedly  announced  and  as 
often  withdrawn  for  further  revision,  was  at  last  pub- 
lished on  the  26th  of  May,  1770,  when  Goldsmith  was  in 
his  forty-second  year.  The  leading  idea  of  it  he  had  al- 
ready thrown  out  in  certain  lines  in  the  Traveller : 


116  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

"  Have  we  not  seen,  round  Britain's  peopled  shore, 
Her  useful  sons  exchanged  for  useless  ore? 
Seen  all  her  triumphs  but  destruction  haste, 
Like  daring  tapers  brightening  as  they  waste  ? 
Seen  opulence,  her  grandeur  to  maintain, 
Lead  stern  depopulation  in  her  train, 
And  over  fields  where  scattered  hamlets  rose 
In  barren  solitary  pomp  repose  1 
Have  we  not  seen  at  pleasure's  lordly  call 
The  smiling  long-frequented  village  fall  ? 
Beheld  the  duteous  son,  the  sire  decayed, 
The  modest  matron,  and  the  blushing  maid, 
Forced  from  their  homes,  a  melancholy  train, 
To  traverse  climes  beyond  the  western  main  ; 
Where  wild  Oswego  spreads  her  swamps  around, 
And  Niagara  stuns  with  thundering  sound  ?" 

— and  elsewhere,  in  recorded  conversations  of  his,  wc 
find  that  he  had  somehow  got  it  into  his  head  that  the 
accumulation  of  wealth  in  a  country  was  the  parent  of  all 
evils,  including  depopulation.  We  need  not  stay  here  to 
discuss  Goldsmith's  position  as  a  political  economist  ; 
even  although  Johnson  seems  to  sanction  his  theory  in 
the  four  lines  he  contributed  to  the  end  of  the  poem. 
Nor  is  it  worth  while  returning  to  that  objection  of  Lord 
Maeaulay's  which  has  already  been  mentioned  in  these 
pages,  further  than  to  repeat  that  the  poor  Irish  village 
in  which  Goldsmith  was  brought  up,  no  doubt  looked  to 
him  as  charming  as  any  Auburn,  when  he  regarded  it 
through  the  softening  and  beautifying  mist  of  years.  It 
is  enough  that  the  abandonment  by  a  number  of  poor 
people  of  the  homes  in  which  they  and  theirs  have  lived 
their  lives,  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic  facts  in  our  civili- 
zation ;  and  that  out  of  the  various  circumstances  sur- 
rounding this  forced  migration  Goldsmith  has  made  one 
of  the  most  graceful  and  touching  poems  in  the  English 


xiv.]  THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  117 

language.  It  is  clear  bird-singing  ;  but  there  is  a  pa- 
thetic note  in  it.  That  imaginary  ramble  through  the 
Lissoy  that  is  far  away  has  recalled  more  than  his  boyish 
sports  ;  it  has  made  him  look  back  over  his  own  life — 
the  life  of  an  exile. 

"  I  still  had  hopes,  my  latest  hours  to  crown, 
Amidst  these  humble  bowers  to  lay  me  down  ; 
To  husband  out  life's  taper  at  the  close, 
And  keep  the  flame  from  wasting  by  repose  : 
I  still  had  hopes,  for  pride  attends  us  still, 
Amidst,  the  swains  to  show  my  bookdearned  skill, 
Around  my  tire  an  evening  group  to  draw, 
And  tell  of  all  I  felt,  and  all  I  saw  ; 
And,  as  a  hare  whom  hounds  and  horns  pursue 
Pauts  to  the  place  from  whence  at  first  he  flew, 
I  still  had  hopes,  my  long  vexations  past, 
Here  to  return— and  die  at  home  at  last." 

Who  can  doubt  that  it  was  of  Lissoy  he  was  thinking  ? 
Sir  Walter  Scott,  writing  a  generation  ago,  said  that 
"  the  church  which  tops  the  neighboring  hill,"  the  mill 
and  the  brook  were  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Irish  village  ; 
and  that  even 

"  The  hawthorn  bush  with  seats  beneath  the  shade, 
For  talking  age  and  whispering  lovers  made," 

had  been  identified  by  the  indefatigable  tourist,  and  was 
of  course  being  cut  to  pieces  to  make  souvenirs.  But  in- 
deed it  is  of  little  consequence  whether  we  say  that  Au- 
burn is  an  English  village,  or  insist  that  it  is  only  Lissoy 
idealized,  as  long  as  the  thing  is  true  in  itself.  And  we 
know  that  this  is  true  :  it  is  not  that  one  sees  the  place 
as  a  picture,  but  that  one  seems  to  be  breathing  its  very 
atmosphere,  and  listening  to  the  various  cries  that  thrill 
the  "  hollow  silence." 


118  GOLDSMITH.  [ciiap. 

"  Sweet  was  the  sound,  when  oft  at  evening's  close 
Up  yonder  hill  the  village  murmur  rose. 
There,  as  I  past  with  careless  steps  and  slow, 
The  mingling  notes  came  softened  from  below  ; 
The  swain  responsive  as  the  milkmaid  sung, 
The  sober  herd  that  lowed  to  meet  their  young, 
The  noisy  geese  that  gabbled  o'er  the  pool, 
The  playful  children  just  let  loose  from  school, 
The  watch-dog's  voice  that  bayed  the  whispering  wind. 
And  the  loud  laugh  that  spake  the  vacant  mind." 

Nor  is  it  any  romantic  and  impossible  peasantry  that 
is  gradually  brought  before  us.  There  are  no  Norvals  in 
Lissoy.  There  is  the  old  woman — Catherine  Geraghty, 
they  say,  was  her  name — who  gathered  cresses  in  the 
ditches  near  her  cabin.  There  is  the  village  preacher 
whom  Mrs.  Hodson,  Goldsmith's  sister,  took  to  be  a 
portrait  of  their  father  ;  but  whom  others  have  identified 
as  Henry  Goldsmith,  and  even  as  the  uncle  Contarine  : 
they  may  all  have  contributed.  And  then  comes  Paddy 
Byrne.  Amid  all  the  pensive  tenderness  of  the  poem 
this  description  of  the  schoolmaster,  with  its  strokes  of 
demure  humor,  is  introduced  with  delightful  effect  : 

"  Beside  yon  straggling  fence  that  skirts  the  way, 
With  blossomed  furze  unprofitably  gay, 
There,  in  his  noisy  mansion,  skilled  to  rule, 
The  village  master  taught  his  little  school. 
A  man  severe  he  was,  and  stern  to  view  ; 
I  knew  him  well,  and  every  truant  knew  : 
Well  had  the  boding  tremblers  learned  to  trace 
The  day's  disasters  in  his  morning  face  ; 
Full  well  they  laughed  with  counterfeited  glee 
At  all  his  jokes,  for  many  a  joke  had  he  ; 
Full  well  the  busy  whisper  circling  round 
Conveyed  the  dismal  tidings  when  he  frowned. 
Yet  he  was  kind,  or,  if  severe  in  aught, 
The  love  he  bore  to  learning  was  in  fault ; 


xiv.]  THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  119 

The  village  all  declared  how  much  he  knew  : 
*Twas  certain  he  could  write,  and  cipher  too  : 
Lands  he  could  measure,  terms  and  tides  presage, 
And  e'en  the  story  ran  that  he  could  gauge  : 
In  arguing,  too,  the  parson  owned  his  skill ; 
For  e'en  though  vanquished,  he  could  argue  still ; 
While  words  of  learned  length  and  thundering  sound 
Amazed  the  gazing  rustics  ranged  around  ; 
And  still  they  gazed,  and  still  the  wonder  grew 
That  one  small  head  could  carry  all  he  knew." 

All  this  is  so  simple  and  natural  that  we  cannot  fail  to 
believe  in  the  reality  of  Auburn,  or  Lissoy,  or  whatever 
the  village  may  be  supposed  to  be.  We  visit  the  clergy- 
man's cheerful  fireside  ;  and  look  in  on  the  noisy  school  ; 
and  sit  in  the  evening  in  the  ale-house  to  listen  to  the 
profound  politics  talked  there.  But  the  crisis  comes. 
Auburn  delenda  est.  Here,  no  doubt,  occurs  the  least 
probable  part  of  the  poem.  Poverty  of  soil  is  a  common 
cause  of  emigration  ;  land  that  produces  oats  (when  it 
can  produce  oats  at  all)  three  fourths  mixed  with  weeds, 
and  hay  chiefly  consisting  of  rushes,  naturally  discharges 
its  surplus  population  as  families  increase  ;  and  though 
the  wrench  of  parting  is  painful  enough,  the  usual  result 
is  a  change  from  starvation  to  competence.  It  more 
rarely  happens  that  a  district  of  peace  and  plenty,  such 
as  Auburn  was  supposed  to  see  around  it,  is  depopulated 
to  add  to  a  great  man's  estate. 

"  The  man  of  wealth  and  pride 

Takes  up  a  space  that  many  poor  supplied  ; 

Space  for  his  lake,  his  park's  extended  bounds, 

Space  for  his  horses,  equipage,  and  hounds  : 
******* 

His  seat,  where  solitary  sports  are  seen, 
Indignant  spurns  the  cottage  from  the  green  ;" 


120  GOLDSMITH.  [chap 

and  so  forth.     This  seldom  happens  ;  but   it  does  hap- 
pen ;  and  it  has  happened,  in  our  own  day,  in  England. 
It  is  within  the   last  twenty  years   that   an  English  land- 
lord, having  faith   in   his   riches,    bade  a  village  be  re- 
moved and  cast  elsewhere,  so  that  it  should  no  longer  be 
visible  from  his  windows  :  and  it  was  forthwith  removed. 
But  any  solitary  instance  like  this  is  not  sufficient  to  sup- 
port the  theory  that  wealth  and  luxury  are  inimical  to  the 
existence  of  a  hardy  peasantry  ;  and  so  we  must  admit, 
after  all,  that  it  is  poetical  exigency  rather  than  political 
economy  that  lias  decreed  the  destruction  of  the  loveli- 
est village  of  the  plain.     Where,  asks  the  poet,  are  the 
driven  poor  to  find  refuge,  when  even  the  fenceless  com- 
mons are  seized  upon  and  divided  by  the  rich  ?     In  the 
great  cities  ? — 

' '  To  see  profusion  that  he  must  not  share  ; 
To  see  ten  thousand  baneful  arts  combined 
To  pamper  luxury  and  thin  mankind." 

It  is  in  this  description  of  a  life  in  cities  that  there  occurs 
an  often-quoted  passage,  which  has  in  it  one  of  the  most 
perfect  lines  in  English  poetry  : 

"  Ah  !  turn  thine  eyes 

Where  the  poor  houseless  shivering  female  lies. 

She  once,  perhaps,  in  village  plenty  blest, 

Has  wept  at  tales  of  innocence  distrest ; 

Her  modest  looks  the  cottage  might  adorn, 

Sweet  as  the  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn  ; 

Now  lost  to  all  ;  her  friends,  her  virtue  fled, 

Near  her  betrayer's  door  she  lays  her  head. 

And,  pinched  with  cold,  and  shrinking  from  the  shower, 

With  heavy  heart  deplores  that  luckless  hour, 

When  idly  first,  ambitious  of  the  town, 

She  left  her  wheel  and  robes  of  country  brown." 

Goldsmith  wrote  in  a  pre-Wordsworthian  age.  when, 


xiv.j  THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  121 

even  in  the  realms  of  poetry,  a  primrose  was  not  much 
more  than  a  primrose  ;  but  it  is  doubtful  whether,  either 
before,  during,  or  since  Wordsworth's  time,  the  senti- 
ment that  the  imagination  can  iufuse  into  the  common 
and  familiar  things  around  us  ever  received  more  happy 
expression  than  in  the  well-known  line, 

"  Sioeet  as  (he  primrose  peeps  beneath  the  thorn." 
No  one  has  as  yet  succeeded  in  defining  accurately  and 
concisely  what  poetry  is  ;  but  at  all  events  this  line  is 
surcharged  with  a  certain  quality  which  is  conspicuously 
absent  in  such  a  production  as  the  Essay  on  Man.  An- 
other similar  line  is  to  be  found  further  on  in  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  distant  scenes  to  which  the  proscribed  people 
are  driven  : 

"  Through  torrid  tracts  with  fainting  steps  they  go, 
Where  wild  Altama  murmurs  to  tlieirwoe." 

Indeed,  the  pathetic  side  of  emigration  has  never  been  so 
powerfully  presented  to  us  as  in  this  poem  : 

"  When  the  poor  exiles,  every  pleasure  past, 

Hung  round  the  bowers,  and  fondly  looked  their  last, 

And  took  a  long  farewell,  and  wished  in  vain 

For  seats  like  these  beyond  the  western  main, 

And  shuddering  still  to  face  the  distant  deep, 

Returned  and  wept,  and  still  returned  to  weep. 
******* 

Even  now,  methinks,  as  pondering  here  I  stand, 

I  see  the  rural  virtues  leave  the  land. 

Down  where  you  anchoring  vessel  spreads  the  sail, 

That  idly  waiting  flaps  with  every  gale, 

Downward  they  move  a  melancholy  baud, 

Pass  from  the  shore,  and  darken  all  the  strand. 

Contented  toil,  and  hospitable  care, 

And  kind  connubial  tenderness  are  there  ; 

And  piety  with  wishes  placed  above, 

And  steady  loyalty,  and  faithful  love." 

I  6*  a*" 


122  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

And  worst  of  all,  in  this  imaginative  departure,  we  find 
that  Poetry  herself  is  leaving  our  shores.  She  is  now  to 
try  her  voice 

"  On  Torno's  cliffs  or  Pambamarca's  side  ;" 
and  the  poet,  in  the  closing  lines  of  the  poem,  bids  her  a 
passionate  and  tender  farewell  : 

"  And  thou,  sweet  Poetry,  thou  loveliest  maid, 
Still  first  to  fly  where  sensual  joys  invade  ; 
Unfit  in  these  degenerate  times  of  shame 
To  catch  the  heart,  or  strike  for  honest  fame  ; 
Dear  charming  nymph,  neglected  and  decried, 
My  shame  in  crowds,  my  solitary  pride  ; 
Thou  source  of  all  my  bliss,  and  all  my  woe, 
That  found'st  me  poor  at  first,  and  keep'st  me  so  ; 
Thou  guide  by  which  the  nobler  arts  excel, 
Thou  nurse  of  every  virtue,  fare  thee  well  ! 
Farewell,  and  oh  !  where'er  thy  voice  be  tried, 
On  Torno's  cliffs,  or  Pambamarca's  side, 
Whether  where  equinoctial  fervors  glow, 
Or  winter  wraps  the  polar  world  in  snow, 
Still  let  thy  voice,  prevailing  over  time, 
Redress  the  rigors  of  the  inclement  clime  ; 
Aid  slighted  truth  with  thy  persuasive  strain  ; 
Teach  erring  man  to  spurn  the  rage  of  gain  : 
Teach  liiin,  that  states  of  native  strength  possest, 
Though  very  poor,  may  still  be  very  blest ; 
That  trade's  proud  empire  hastes  to  swift  decay, 
As  ocean  sweeps  the  labored  mole  away  ; 
While  self-dependent  power  can  time  defy, 
As  rocks  resist  the  billows  and  the  sky. " 

So  ends  this  graceful,  melodious,  tender  poem,  the  po- 
sition of  which  in  English  literature,  and  in  the  estima- 
tion of  all  who  love  English  literature,  has  not  been  dis- 
turbed by  any  fluctuations  of  literary  fashion.  We  may 
give  more  attention  at  the  moment  to  the  new  experi- 
ments of  the  poetic  method  ;  but  we  return  only  with  re- 


xiv.]  THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  123 

newed  gratitude  to  the  old  familiar  strain,  not  the  least 
merit  of  which  is  that  it  has  nothing  about  it  of  foreign 
tricks  or  graces.  In  English  literature  there  is  nothing 
more  thoroughly  English  than  these  writings  produced 
by  an  Irishman.  And  whether  or  not  it  was  Paddy 
Byrne,  and  Catherine  Geraghty,  and  the  Lissoy  ale-house 
that  Goldsmith  had  in  his  mind  when  he  was  writing  the 
poem,  is  not  of  much  consequence  :  the  manner  and  lan- 
guage and  feeling  are  all  essentially  English  ;  so  that  we 
never  think  of  calling  Goldsmith  any  thing  but  an  English 
poet. 

The  poem  met  with  great  and  immediate  success.  Of 
course  every  thing  that  Dr.  Goldsmith  now  wrote  was 
read  by  the  public  ;  he  had  not  to  wait  for  the  recom- 
mendation of  the  reviews  ;  but,  in  this  case,  even  the  re- 
views had  scarcely  any  thing  but  praise  in  the  welcome  of 
his  new  book.  It  was  dedicated,  in  graceful  and  ingeni- 
ous terms,  to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  who  returned  the 
compliment  by  painting  a  picture  and  placing  on  the  en- 
graving of  it  this  inscription  :  *'  This  attempt  to  express 
a  character  in  the  Deserted  Village  is  dedicated  to  Dr. 
Goldsmith  by  his  sincere  friend  and  admirer,  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds."  What  Goldsmith  got  from  Griffin  for  the 
poem  is  not  accurately  known  ;  and  this  is  a  misfortune, 
for  the  knowledge  would  have  enabled  ns  to  judge 
whether  at  that  time  it  was  possible  for  a  poet  to  court 
the  draggle-tail  muses  without  risk  of  starvation.  But 
■  if  fame  were  his  chief  object  in  the  composition  of  the 
poem,  he  was  sufficiently  rewarded  ;  and  it  is  to  be  sur- 
mised that  by  this  time  the  people  in  Ireland — no  longer 
implored  to  get  subscribers — had  heard  of  the  proud  po- 
sition won  by  the  vagrant  youth  who  had  "  taken  the 
world  for  his  pillow"  some  eighteen  years  before. 


184  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

That  his  own  thoughts  had  sometimes  wandered  hack 
•to  the  scenes  and  friends  of  his  youth  during  this  lahor 
of  love,  we  know  from  his  letters.  In  Jauuary  of  this 
year,  while  as  yet  the  Deserted  Village  was  not  quite 
through  the  press,  he  wrote  to  his  brother  Maurice  ;  and 
expressed  himself  as  most  anxious  to  hear  all  about  the 
relatives  from  whom  lie  had  been  so  long  parted.  He 
has  something  to  say  about  himself  too  ;  wishes  it  to  be 
known  that  the  King  bus  lately  been  pleased  to  make  him 
Professor  of  Ancient  History  "in  a  Royal  Academy  of 
Painting  which  he  has  just  established  ;"  but  gives  no 
very  flourishing  account  of  his  circumstances.  "  Honors 
to  one  in  my  situation  are  something  like  ruffles  to  a  man 
that  wants  a  shirt. "  However,  there  is  some  small  leg- 
acy of  fourteen  or  fifteen  pounds  left  him  by  his  uncle 
Contarine,  which  he  understands  to  be  in  the  keeping  of 
his  cousin  Lawder  ;  and  to  this  wealth  he  is  desirous  of 
foregoing  all  claim  :  his  relations  must  settle  how  it  may 
be  best  expended.  But  there  is  not  a  reference  to  his 
literary  achievements,  or  the  position  won  by  them  ;  not 
the  slightest  yielding  to  even  a  pardonable  vanity  ;  it  is  a 
modest,  affectionate  letter.  The  only  hint  that  Maurice 
Goldsmith  receives  of  the  esteem  in  which  his  brother  is 
held  in  London,  is  contained  in  a  brief  mention  of  John- 
son, Burke,  and  others  as  his  friends.  ' '  I  have  sent  my 
cousin  Jenny  a  miniature  picture  of  myself,  as  I  believe 
it  is  the  most  acceptable  present  I  can  offer.  I  have  or- 
dered it  to  be  left  for  her  at  George  Faulkenor's,  folded 
in  a  letter.  The  face,  you  well  know,  is  ugly  enough  ; 
but  it  is  finely  painted.  I  will  shortly  also  send  my 
friends  over  the  Shannon  some  mezzotinto  prints  of  my- 
self, and  some  more  of  my  friends  here,  such  as  Burke, 
Johnson,  Reynolds,  and  Colman.      I  believe  I  have  writ- 


Xiv.]  THE  DESERTED  VILLAGE.  125 

ten  an  hundred  letters  to  different  friends  in  your  coun- 
try, and  never  received  an  answer  from  any  of  them.  I 
do  not  know  how  to  account  for  this,  or  why  they  are 
unwilling  to  keep  up  for  me  those  regards  which  I  must 
ever  retain  for  them."  The  letter  winds  up  with  an 
appeal  for  news,  news,  news. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

OCCASIONAL    WRITINGS. 

Some  tw'o  months  after  the  publication  of  the  Deserted 
Village,  when  its  success  had  been  well  assured,  Gold- 
smith proposed  to  himself  the  relaxation  of  a  little  Conti- 
nental tour  ;  and  he  was  accompanied  by  three  ladies, 
Mrs.  Horncck  and  her  two  pretty  daughters,  who  doubt- 
less took  more  charge  of  him  than  he  did  of  them.  This 
Mrs.  Ilorneck,  the  widow  of  a  certain  Captain  Horncck, 
was  connected  with  Reynolds,  while  Burke  was  the  guar- 
dian of  the  two  girls  ;  so  that  it  was  natural  that  they 
should  make  the  acquaintance  of  Dr.  Goldsmith.  A 
foolish  attempt  has  been  made  to  weave  out  of  the  rela- 
tions supposed  to  exist  between  the  younger  of  the  girls 
and  Goldsmith  an  imaginary  romance  ;  but  there  is  not 
the  slightest  actual  foundation  for  any  thing  of  the  kind. 
Indeed  the  best  guide  we  can  have  to  the  friendly  and 
familiar  terms  on  which  he  stood  with  regard  to  the 
Hornccks  and  their  circle,  is  the  following  careless  and 
jocular  reply  to  a  chance  invitation  sent  him  by  the  two 
sisters  : 

"  Your  mandate  I  got, 
You  may  all  go  to  pot ; 
Had  your  senses  been  right, 
You'd  have  sent  before  night ; 


xv.1  OCCASIONAL  WRITINGS.  127 

As  I  hope  to  be  saved, 

I  put  off  being  shaved  ; 

For  I  could  not  make  bold, 

While  the  matter  was  cold, 

To  meddle  in  suds, 

Or  to  put  on  my  duds  ; 

So  tell  Horneck  and  Nesbitt 

And  Baker  and  his  bit, 

And  Kauffman  beside, 

And  the  Jessamy  bride  ; 

With  the  rest  of  the  crew, 

The  Reynoldses  two, 

Little  Comedy's  face 

And  the  Captain  in  lace. 
*  *  *  * 

Yet  how  can  I  when  vext 

Thus  stray  from  my  text  ? 

Tell  each  other  to  rue 

Your  Devonshire  crew, 

For  sending  so  late 

To  one  of  my  state. 

But  'tis  Reynolds's  way 

From  wisdom  to  stray, 

And  Angelica's  whim 

To  be  frolic  like  him. 
But,  alas  !  your  good  worships,  how  could  they  be  wiser, 
When  both  have  been  spoiled  in  to-day's  Advertiser  ?" 

"  The  Jessamy  Bride"  was  the  pet  nickname  he  had 
bestowed  on  the  younger  Miss  Horneck — the  heroine  of 
the  speculative  romance  just  mentioned  ;  "  Little  Com- 
edy" was  her  sister  ;  "  the  Captain  in  lace"  their  brother, 
who  was  in  the  Guards.  No  doubt  Mrs.  Horneck  and 
her  daughters  were  very  pleased  to  have  with  them  on 
this  Continental  trip  so  distinguished  a  person  as  Dr. 
Goldsmith  ;  and  he  must  have  been  very  ungrateful  if  he 
was  not  glad  to  be  provided  with  such  charming  compan- 


128  GOLDSMITH.  |ohap. 

ions.  The  story  of  the  sudden  envy  he  displayed  of  the 
admiration  excited  by  the  two  handsome  young  English- 
women as  they  stood  at  a  hotel-window  in  Lille,  is  so  in- 
credibly foolish  that  it  needs  scarcely  be  repeated  here  ; 
unless  to  repeat  the  warning  that,  if  ever  anybody  was  so 
dense  as  not  to  see  the  humor  of  that  piece  of  acting,  one 
had  better  look  with  grave  suspicion  on  every  one  of  the 
stories  told  about  Goldsmith's  vanities  and  absurdities. 

Even  with  such  pleasant  companions,  the  trip  to  Paris 
was  not  every  thing  he  had  hoped.  "  I  find,"  he  wrote 
to  Reynolds  from  Paris,  "  that  travelling  at  twenty  and 
at  forty  are  very  different  things.  I  set  out  with  all  my 
confirmed  habits  about  me,  and  can  find  nothing  on  the 
Continent  so  good  as  when  I  formerly  left  it.  One  of 
our  chief  amusements  here  is  scolding  at  every  thing  we 
meet  with,  and  praising  every  thing  and  every  person  we 
left  at  home.  You  may  judge  therefore  whether  your 
name  is  not  frequently  bandied  at  table  among  us.  To 
tell  you  the  truth,  I  never  thought  I  could  regret  your 
absence  so  much,  as  our  various  mortifications  on  the 
road  have  often  taught  me  to  do.  I  could  tell  you  of 
disasters  and  adventures  without  number,  of  our  lying  in 
barns,  and  of  my  being  half  poisoned  with  a  dish  of 
green  peas,  of  our  quarrelling  with  postilions  and  being 
cheated  by  our  landladies,  but  I  reserve  all  this  for  a 
happy  hour  which  I  expect  to  share  with  you  upon  my 
return."  The  fact  is  that  although  Goldsmith  had  seen 
:i  good  deal  of  foreign  travel,  the  manner  of  his  making 
the  grand  tour  in  his  youth  was  not  such  as  to  fit  him  for 
acting  as  courier  to  a  party  of  ladies.  However,  if  they 
increased  his  troubles,  they  also  shared  them  ;  and  in 
this  same  letter  he  bears  explicit  testimony  to  the  value 
of  their  companionship.     "  I  will  soon  be  among  you, 


XV.]  OCCASIONAL  WRITINGS.  129 

better  pleased  with  my  situation  at  homo  than  I  ever  was 
before.  And  yet  I  must  say,  that  if  any  thing  could 
make  France  pleasant,  the  very  good  women  with  whom 
I  am  at  present  would  certainly  do  it.  I  could  say  more 
about  that,  but  I  intend  showing  them  this  letter  before  I 
send  it  away. ' '  Mrs.  Horneck,  Little  Comedy,  the  Jes- 
samy  Bride,  and  the  Professor  of  Ancient  History  at  the 
Royal  Academy,  all  returned  to  London  ;  the  last  to  re- 
sume his  round  of  convivialities  at  taverns,  excursions 
into  regions  of  more  fashionable  amusement  along  with 
Reynolds,  and  task-work  aimed  at  the  pockets  of  the 
booksellers. 

It  was  a  happy-go-lucky  sort  of  life.  We  find  him 
now  showing  off  his  fine  clothes  and  his  sword  and  wig 
at  Ranelagh  Gardens,  and  again  shut  up  in  his' chambers 
compiling  memoirs  and  histories  in  hot  haste  ;  now  the 
guest  of  Lord  Clare,  and  figuring  at  Bath,  and  again  de- 
lighting some  small  domestic  circle  by  his  quips  and 
cranks  ;  playing  jokes  for  the  amusement  of  children, 
and  writing  comic  letters  in  verse  to  their  elders  ;  every- 
where and  at  all  times  merry,  thoughtless,  good-natured. 
And,  of  course,  we  find  also  his  humorous  pleasantries 
being  mistaken  for  blundering  stupidity.  In  perfect 
good  faith  Boswcll  describes  how  a  number  of  people 
burst  out  laughing  when  Goldsmith  publicly  complained 
•  that  he  had  met  Lord  Camden  at  Lord  Clare's  house  in 
the  country,  "  and  he  took  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if 
I  had  been  an  ordinary  man."  Goldsmith's  claiming  to 
be  a  very  extraordinary  person  was  precisely  a  stroke  of 
that  humorous  self-depreciation  in  which  he  was  contin- 
ually indulging  ;  and  the  Jessamy  Bride  has  left  it  on 
record  that  ' '  on  many  occasions,  from  the  peculiar  man- 
ner of  his  humor,  and  assumed  frown  of  countenance, 


10  GOLDSMITH.  [chai\ 

what  was  often  uttered  in  jest  was  mistaken  by  those 
who  did  not  know  him  for  earnest."  This  would  appear 
to  have  been  one  of  those  occasions.  The  company 
burst  out  laughing  at  Goldsmith's  having  made  a  fool  of 
himself  ;  and  Johnson  was  compelled  to  come  to  his  res- 
cue. "  Nay,  gentlemen,  Dr.  Goldsmith  is  in  the  right. 
A  nobleman  ought  to  have  made  up  to  such  a  man  as 
Goldsmith  ;  and  I  think  it  is  much  against  Lord  Camden 
that  he  neglected  him." 

Mention  of  Lord  Clare  naturally  recalls  the  Haunch  of 
Venison.  Goldsmith  was  particularly  happy  in  writing 
bright  and  airy  verses  ;  the  grace  and  lightness  of  his 
touch  has  rarely  been  approached.  It  must  be  con- 
fessed, however,  that  in  this  direction  he  was  somewhat 
of  an  Autolycus  ;  unconsidered  trifles  he  freely  appropri- 
ated ;  but  he  committed  these  thefts  with  scarcely  any 
concealment,  and  with  the  most  charming  air  in  the 
world.  In  fact  some  of  the  snatches  of  verse  which  he 
contributed  to  the  Bee  scarcely  profess  to  be  any  thing 
else  than  translations,  though  the  originals  are  not  given. 
But  who  is  likely  to  complain  when  we  get  as  the  result 
such  a  delightful  piece  of  nonsense  as  the  famous  Elegy 
on  that  Glory  of  her  Sex,  Mrs.  Mary  Blaize,  which  has 
been  the  parent  of  a  vast  progeny  since  Goldsmith's 
time  ? 

"  Good  people  all,  with  one  accord 
Lament  for  Madam  Blaize, 
Who  never  wanted  a  good  word 
From  those  who  spoke  her  praise. 

"  The  needy  seldom  passed  her  door, 
And  always  found  her  kind  ; 
She  freely  lent  to  all  the  poor — 
Who  left  a  pledge  behind. 


xv.]  OCCASIONAL  WRITINGS.  131 

"  She  strove  the  neighborhood  to  please, 
With  manners  wondrous  winning  ; 
And  never  followed  wicked  ways — 
Unless  when  she  was  sinning. 

"  At  church,  in  silks  and  satins  new, 
With  hoop  of  monstrous  size, 
She  never  slumbered  in  her  pew — 
But  when  she  shut  her  eyes. 

"  Her  love  was  sought,  I  do  aver, 
By  twenty  beaux  and  more  ; 
The  king  himself  has  followed  her— 
When  she  has  walked  before. 

"  But  now  her  wealth  and  finery  fled, 
Her  hangers-on  cut  short  all ; 
The  doctors  found,  when  she  was  dead — 
Her  last  disorder  mortal. 

"  Let  us  lament,  in  sorrow  sore, 
For  Kent  Street  well  may  say, 
That  had  she  lived  a  twelvemonth  more- 
She  had  not  died  to-day." 

The  Haunch  of  Venison,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  poet- 
ical letter  of  thanks  to  Lord  Clare — an  easy,  jocular 
epistle,  in  which  the  writer  has  a  cut  or  two  at  certain  of 
his  literary  brethren.  Then,  as  he  is  looking  at  the  veni- 
son, and  determining  not  to  send  it  to  any  such  people  as 
Hiffernan  or  Higgins,  who  should  step  ifi  but  our  old 
friend  Beau  Tibbs,  or  some  one  remarkably  like  him  in 
manner  and  speech  ? — 

"  While  thus  I  debated,  in  reverie  centred, 
An  acquaintance,  a  friend  as  he  called  himself,  entered  ; 
An  under -bred,  fine-spoken  fellow  was  he, 
And  he  smiled  as  he  looked  at  the  venison  and  me. 
'  What  have  we  got  here  ?— Why  this  is  good  eating  ! 
Your  own,  I  suppose— or  is  it  in  waiting  ?  ' 


132  GOLDSMITH.  [chap.  xv.  | 

'  Why,  whose  should  it  he  ?  '  cried  I  with  a  flounce  ; 
'  I  get  these  things  often  ' — but  thai  was  a  bounce  : 
'  Some  lords,  my  acquaintance,  that  settle  the  nation, 
Are  pleased  to  be  kind — but  I  hate  ostentation.' 
1  If  that  be  the  case  then,'  cried  he,  very  gay, 
'I'm  glad  I  have  taken  this  house  in  my  way. 
To-morrow  you  take  a  poor  dinner  with  me  ; 
No  words — I  insist  on't — precisely  at  three  ; 
We'll  have  Johnson,  and  Burke  ;  all  the  wits  will  be  there  ; 
My  acquaintance  is  slight,  or  I'd  ask  my  Lord  Clare. 
And  now  that  I  think  on't,  as  I  am  a  sinner  ! 
We  wanted  this  venison  to  make  out  the  dinner. 
What  say  you — a  pasty  ?    It  shall,  and  it  must, 
And  my  wife,  little  Kitty,  is  famous  for  crust. 
Here,  porter  !  this  venison  with  me  to  Mile  End  ; 
No  stirring — I  beg — my  dear  friend — my  dear  friend  1 ' 
Thus,  snatching  his  hat,  he  brushed  off  like  the  wind, 
And  the  porter  and  eatables  followed  behind." 

We  need  not  follow  the  vanished  venison — which  did 
not  make  its  appearance  at  the  banquet  any  more  than 
did  Johnson  or  Burke — further  than  to  say  that  if  Lord 
Clare  did  not  make  it  good  to  the  poet  he  did  not  de- 
serve to  have  his  name  associated  with  such  a  clever  and 
careless  jeu  d' esprit. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

SHE    STOOPS    TO    CONQUEK. 

But  the  writing  of  smai-t  verses  could  not  keep  Dr. 
Qoldsmith  alive,  more  especially  as  dinner-parties,  Rane- 
lagli  masquerades,  and  similar  diversions  pressed  heavily 
on  his  finances.  When  his  History  of  England  ap- 
peared, the  literary  cutthroats  of  the  day  accused  him  of 
having  been  bribed  by  the  Government  to  betray  the  lib- 
erties of  the  people  :l  a  foolish  charge.  What  Gold- 
smith got  for  the  English  History  was  the  sum  originally 
stipulated  for,  and  now  no  doubt  all  spent  ;  with  a  fur- 
ther sum  of  fifty  guineas  for  an  abridgment  of  the  work. 
Then,  by  this  time,  he  had  persuaded  Griffin  to  advance 
him  the  whole  of  the  eight  hundred  guineas  for  the  Ani- 
mated Nature,  though  he  had  only  done  about  a  third 
part  of  the  book.  At  the  instigation  of  Newbery  he 
had  begun  a  story  after  the  manner  of  the  Vicar  of 
Wakefield  ;  but  it  appears  that  such  chapters  as  he  had 
written  were  not  deemed  to  be  promising  ;  and  the  un- 
dertaking was  abandoned.  The  fact  is,  Goldsmith  was 
now  thinking  of  another  method  of  replenishing  his 
purse.     The  Vicar  of  Wakefield  had  brought  him  little 

1  "  God  knows  I  had  no  thought  for  or  against  liberty  in  my 
head  ;  my  whole  aim  being  to  make  up  a  book  of  a  decent  siza 
that,  as  Squire  Richard  says,  '  would  do  no  harm  to  nobody.'  " 
— Goldsmith  to  Langton,  September,  1771. 


184  GOLDSMITH.  [CHAP. 

but  reputation  ;  the  Good-natured  Man  had  brought  him 
£500.  It  was  to  the  stage  that  he  now  looked  for  assist- 
ance out  of  the  financial  slough  in  which  he  was  plunged, 
lie  was  engaged  in  writing  a  comedy  ;  and  that  comedy 
was  She  Stoops  to  Conquer. 

In  the  Dedication  to  Johnson  which  was  prefixed  to 
this  play  on  its  appearance  in  type,  Goldsmith  hints  that 
the  attempt  to  write  a  comedy  not  of  the  sentimental 
order  then  in  fashion,  was  a  hazardous  thing  ;  and  also 
that  Colman,  who  saw  the  piece  in  its  various  stages,  was 
of  this  opinion  too.  Colman  threw  cold  water  on  the 
undertaking  from  the  very  beginning.  It  was  only  ex- 
treme pressure  on  the  part  of  Goldsmith's  friends  that  in- 
duced— or  rather  compelled — him  to  accept  the  comedy  ; 
and  that,  after  he  had  kept  the  unfortunate  author  in  the 
tortures  of  suspense  for  month  after  month.  But  al- 
though Goldsmith  knew  the  danger,  he  was  resolved  to 
face  it.  jHc  hated  the  sentimentalists  and  all  their 
works  ;  and  determined  to  keep  his  new  comedy  faithful 
to  nature,  whether  people  ailed  it  low  or  not.  His  ob- 
ject was  to  raise  a  genuine,  hearty  laugh  :  not  to  write  a 
piece  for  school  declamation  ;  and  he  had  enough  confi- 
dence in  himself  to  do  the  work:  in  his  own  wajj  More- 
over he  took  the  earliest  possible  opportunity,  in  writing 
this  piece,  of  poking  fun  at  the  sensitive  creatures  who 
had  been  shocked  by  the  "  vulgarity"  of  The  Good- 
natured  Man.  "  Bravo  !  Bravo  !"  cry  the  jolly  com- 
panions of  Tony  Lumpkin,  when  that  promising  buckeen 
has  finished  his  song  at  the  Three  Pigeons  ;  then  follows 
criticism  : 

"  First  Fellow.  The  squire  has  got  spunk  in  him. 
\J        "  Second  Fd.  I  loves  to  hear  him  sing,  bekeays  he  never  givea 
us  nothing  that's  low. 


* 


xvi.]  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  135 

"  Tliird  Fel.  O  damn  any  tiling  that's  low,  I  cannot  bear  it. 

"  Fourth  Fel.  The  genteel  thing  is  the  genteel  thing  any  time  : 
if  so  be  that  a  gentleman  bees  in  a  concatenation  accordingly. 

"  Third  Fel.  I  likes  the  niaxum  of  it.  Master  Muggins.  What, 
though  I  am  obligated  to  dance  a  bear,  a  man  may  be  a  gen- 
tleman for  all  that.  May  this  be  my  poison,  if  my  bear  ever 
dances  but  to  the  very  genteelest  of  tunes;  'Water  Parted,' 
or  the  '  The  Minuet  in  Ariadne.'  " 

Indeed,  Goldsmith,  however  he  might  figure  in  soci- 
ety, was  always  capable  of  holding  his  own  when  he  had 
his  pen  in  his  hand.  And  even  at  the  outset  of  this 
comedy  one  sees  how  much  ho  has  gained  in  literary  con- 
fidence since  the  writing  of  the  Good-natured  Man. 
Here  there  is  no  anxions  stiffness  at  all  ;  but  a  brisk,  free 
conversation,  full  of  point  that  is  not  too  formal,  and  yet  \ 
conveying  ail  the  information  that  has  usually  to  be 
crammed  into  a  first  scene.  Tn  taking  as  the  ground- 
w  ork  of  his  plot  that  old  adventure  that  had  befallen  him- 
self— his  mistaking  a  squire's  house  for  an  inn — he  was  , , 
hampering  himself  with  something  that  was  not  the  less 
improbable  because  it  had  actually  happened  ;  but  we 
begin  to  forget  all  the  improbabilities  through  the  natu- 
ralness of  the  people  to  whom  we  are  introduced,  and  the 
brisk  movement  and  life  of  the  piece. 

Fashions  in  dramatic  literature  may  come  and  go  ;  but 
the  wholesome  good-natured  fun  of  She  Stoojys  to  Con- 
quer is  as  capable  of  producing  a  hearty  laugh  now  as  it 
was  when  it  first  saw  tin  light  in  Covent  Garden.  Tony 
Lumpkin  is  one  of  the  especial  favorites  of  the  theatre- 
going  public  ;  and  no  wonder.  With  all  the  young 
cub's  jibes  and  jeers,  his  impudence  and  grimaces,  one 
has  a  sneaking  love  for  the  scapegrace  ;£w£  laugh  with 
him,  rather  than  at  him  ;  how  can  we  fail  to  enjoy  those 
malevolent  tricks  of   his  when  he  so  obviously  enjoya 


130  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

them  himself  ?  And  Diggory — do  we  not  owe  an  eter- 
nal debt  of  gratitude  to  honest  Diggory  for  telling  us 
about  Ould  Grouse  in  the  gunroom,  that  immortal  joke  at 
which  thousands  and  thousands  of  people  have  roared 
with  laughter,  though  they  never  any  one  of  them  could 
tell  what  the  story  was  about  ?  T 1 1 ■  sc  uie  in  which  the 
old  squire  lectures  h'  faithful  attendants  on  their  man- 
ners and  duties,  is  one  of  the  truest  bits  of  comedy  on 
the  English  stagi   : 

"Mr.  HardcastU.  But  you're  not  to  stand  so,  with  your 
bands  in  your  pockets.  Take  your  hands  from  your  pockets, 
Roger  ;  and  from  your  head,  you  blockhead  you.  See  how 
Diggory  carries  his  hands.  They're  a  little  too  stiff,  indeed, 
but  Unit's  no  great  matter. 

"  Diggory.  Ay,  mind  how  I  hold  them.  I  learned  to  hold  my 
bands  this  way  when  I  was  upon  drill  for  the  militia.  And  so 
being  upon  drill 

"Hard.  You  must  not  be  so  talkative,  Diggory.  You  must 
be  all  attention  to  the  guests.  You  must  hear  us  talk,  and  not 
think  of  talking  ;  you  must  see  us  drink,  and  not  think  of 
drinking  ;  you  must  see  us  eat,  and  not  think  of  eating. 

"  Dig.  By  the  laws,  your  worship,  that's  parfectly  impos- 
sible. Whenever  Diggory  sees  yeating  going  forward,  ecod, 
he's  always  wishing  for  a  mouthful  himself. 

"nurd.  Blockhead  1  Is  not  a  bellyful  in  the  kitchen  as  good 
as  a  bellyful  in  the  parlor?  Stay  your  stomach  with  that  re- 
flection. 

"  Dig.  Ecod,  I  thank  your  worship,  I'll  make  a  shift  to  stay 
my  stomach  with  a  slice  of  cold  beef  in  the  pantry. 

"  Hard.  Diggory,  you  are  too  talkative. — Then,  if  I  happen 
to  say  a  good  thing,  or  tell  a  good  story  at  table,  you  must  not 
all  hurst  out  a- laughing,  as  if  you  made  part  of  the  company. 

"Dig.  Then  ecod  your  worship  must  not  tell  the  story  of 
Ould  Grouse  in  the  gunroom  ;  I  can't  help  laughing  at  that — 
he  !  he  !  he  I — for  the  soul  of  me.  We  have  laughed  at  that 
these  twenty  years — ha  I  ha  !  ha  1 

"Hard.  Hal   ha  1  ha!     The  story  is  a  good  one.      Well 


xvi. J  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  137 

honest  Diggory,  you  may  laugh  at  that — but  stm  remember  to 
be  attentive.  Suppose  one  of  the  company  should  call  for  a 
glass  of  wine,  how  will  you  behave  ?  A  glass  of  wine,  sir,  if 
you  please  {to  Dxggohy).— Eh,  why  don't  you  move  '? 

'Dig.  Ecod,  your  worship,  I  never  have,  courage  till  I  see 
the  eatables  and  drinkables  brought  upo'  the  table,  and  then 
I'm  as  bauld  as  a  lion. 

"  Hard.  What,  will  nobody  move  ? 

"  First  Serv.  I'm  not  to  leave  this  pleace. 

"  Second  Serv.  I'm  sure  it's  no  pleace  of  mine. 

"  Tliird  Serv.  Nor  mine,  for  sartain. 

"  Dig.  Wauns,  and  I'm  sure  it  canna  be  mine." 

No  doubt  all  this  is  very  "  low"  indeed  ;  and  perhaps 
Mr.  Colman  may  be  forgiven  for  suspecting  /that  the  re-       ni 
fined  wits  of  the  day  would  be  shocked  by  itiese  rude      v 
humors  of  a  parcel  of  servants.)    But  all  that  can  be  said 
in  this  direction  was  said  at  the  time  by  Horace  Walpole, 
in  a  letter  to  a  friend  of  his  ;  and  this  criticism  is  so 
amusing  in  its  pretence  and  imbecility  that  it  is  worth 
quoting  at  large.     "  Dr.   Goldsmith  has  written  a  com 
edy, ' '  says  this  profound  critic,  ' '  -fno,  it  is  the  lowest 
of  all   farces  ;  it  is  not  the  subject  I  condemn,  though 
very  vulgar,  but  the  execution.     The  drift  tends  to  no 
moral,   no  edification  of  any  kind — the  situations,  how- 
ever, are  well  imagined,  and  make  one  laugh  in  spite  of 
the  grossness  of  the  dialogue,  the  forced  witticisms,  and 
total  improbability  of  the  whole  plan  and  conduct.     But 
what  disgusts  me  most  is,  that  though  the  characters  are 
very  low,  and  aim  at  low  humor,  not  one  of  them  says  a 
sentence  that  is  natural,  or  marks  any  character  at  all. ' ' 
Horace   Walpole  sighing  for  edification — from  a  Covent 
Garden   comedy  !      Surely,   if   the   old   gods   have   any 
laughter  left,  and  if  they  take  any  notice  of  what  is  done 
in    the    literary    world    here    below,    there    must    have 
K  '  7  23 


138  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

nimbi ed  through  the  courts  of  Olympus  a  guffaw  of  sar- 
donic laughter  when  that  solemn  criticism  was  put  down 
on  paper. 

Meanwhile  Colman's  original  fears  had  developed  into 
a  sort  of  stupid  obstinacy.  He  was  so  convinced  that 
the  play  would  not  succeed,  that  he  would  spend  no 
money  in  putting  it  on  the  stage  ;  while  far  and  wide  he 
announced  its  failure  as  a  foregone  conclusion.  Under 
this  gloom  of  vaticination  the  rehearsals  were  nevertheless 
proceeded  with — the  brunt  of  the  quarrels  among  the 
players  falling  wholly  on  Goldsmith,  for  the  manager 
seems  to  have  withdrawn  in  despair  ;  while  all  the  John- 
son confraternity  were  determined  to  do  what  they  could 
for  Goldsmith  on  the  opening  night.  That  was  the  15th 
of  March,  1773.  His  friends  invited  the  author  to  din- 
ner as  a  prelude  to  the  play  ;  Dr.  Johnson  was  in  the 
chair  ;  there  was  plenty  of  gayety.  But  this  means  of 
keeping  up  the  anxious  author's  spirits  was  not  very  suc- 
cessful. Goldsmith's  mouth,  we  are  told  by  Reynolds, 
became  so  parched  "  from  the  agitation  of  his  mind,  that 
he  was  unable  to  swallow  a  single  mouthful."  More- 
over, he  could  not  face  the  ordeal  of  sitting  through  the 
play  ;  when  his  friends  left  the  tavern  and  betook  them- 
selves to  the  theatre,  he  went  away  by  himself  ;  and  was 
subsequently  found  walking  in  St.  James's  Park.  The 
friend  who  discovered  him  there  persuaded  him  that  his 
presence  in  the  theatre  might  be  useful  in  case  of  an 
emergency  ;  and  ultimately  got  him  to  accompany  him 
to  Covent  Garden.  When  Goldsmith  reached  the  the- 
atre, the  fifth  act  had  been  begun. 

Oddly  enough,  the  first  thing  lie  heard  on  entering  the 
Btage-door  was  a  hiss.  The  story  goes  that  the  poor 
author  was  dreadfully  frightened  ;  and  that  in  answer  to 


xvi.]  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  139 

a  hurried  question,  Colman  exclaimed,  "  Pslia  !  Doctor, 
don't  be  afraid  of  a  squib,  when  we  have  been  sitting 
these  two  hours  on  a  barrel  of  gunpowder."  If  this  was 
meant  as  a  hoax,  it  was  a  cruel  one  ;  if  meant  seriously, 
it  was  untrue.  For  the  piece  had  turned  out  a  great  hit. 
From  beginning  to  end  of  the  performance  the  audience 
were  in  a  roar  of  laughter  ;  and  the  single  hiss  that  Gold- 
smith unluckily  heard  was  so  markedly  exceptional,  that 
it  became  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  was  variously  attrib- 
uted to  one  or  other  of  Goldsmith's  rivals.  Colman, 
too,  suffered  at  the  hands  of  the  wits  for  his  gloomy  and 
falsified  predictions  ;  and  had,  indeed,  to  beg  Goldsmith 
to  intercede  for  him.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  Boswell  was 
not  in  London  at  this  time  ;  for  then  we  might  have  had 
a  description  of  the  supper  that  naturally  would  follow 
the  play,  and  of  Goldsmith's  demeanor  under  this  new 
success.  Besides  the  gratification,  moreover,  of  his 
choice  of  materials  being  approved  by  the  public,  there 
was  the  material  benefit  accruing;  to  him  from  the  three 
"  author's  nights. "  These  are  supposed  to  have  produced 
nearly  five  hundred  pounds — a  substantial  sum  in  those 
days. 

Boswell  did  not  come  to  London  till  the  second  of 
April  following  ;  and  the  first  mention  we  find  of  Gold- 
smith is  in  connection  with  an  incident  which  has  its 
ludicrous  as  well  as  its  regrettable  aspect.  The  further 
success  of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  was  not  likely  to  pro- 
pitiate the  wretched  hole-and-corner  cutthroats  that  in- 
fested the  journalism  of  that  day.  More  especially  was 
Kenrick  driven  mad  with  envy  ;  and  so,  in  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  the  London  Packet,  this  poor  creature  deter- 
mined once  more  to  set  aside  the  judgment  of  the  public, 
and  show  Dr.  Goldsmith  in  his  true  colors.     The  letter  is 


140  GOLDSMITH.  [CHAP. 

a  wretched  production,  full  of  personalities  only  fit  for  an 
angry  washerwoman,  and  of  rancor  without  point.  But 
there  was  one  passage  in  it  that  effectually  roused  Gold- 
smith's rage  ;  for  here  the  Jessamy  Bride  was  introduced 
as  "the  lovely  II — k. "  The  letter  was  anonymous; 
but  the  publisher  of  the  print,  a  man  called  Evans,  was 
known  ;  and  so  Goldsmith  thought  he  would  go  and  give 
Evans  a  beating.  If  he  had  asked  Johnson's  advice 
about  the  matter,  he  would  no  doubt  have  been  told  to 
pay  no  heed  at  all  to  anonymous  scurrility — certainly  not 
to  attempt  to  reply  to  it  with  a  cudgel.  When  Johnson 
heard  that  Foote  meant  to  ' '  take  him  off, ' '  he  turned 
to  Davies  and  asked  him  what  was  the  common  price  of 
an  oak  stick  ;  but  an  oak  stick  in  Johnson's  hands  and 
an  oak  stick  in  Goldsmith's  hands  were  two  different 
things.  However,  to  the  bookseller's  shop  the  indignant 
poet  proceeded,  in  company  with  a  friend  ;  got  hold  of 
Evans  ;  accused  him  of  having  insulted  a  young  lady  In- 
putting her  name  in  his  paper  ;  and,  when  the  publisher 
would  fain  have  shifted  the  responsibility  on  to  the  edi- 
tor, forthwith  denounced  him  as  a  rascal,  and  hit  him 
over  the  back  with  his  cane.  The  publisher,  however, 
was  quite  a  match  for  Goldsmith  ;  and  there  is  no  saying 
how  the  deadly  combat  might  have  ended,  had  not  a  lamp 
been  broken  overhead,  the  oil  of  which  drenched  both 
the  warriors.  This  intervention  of  the  superior  gods  was 
just  as  successful  as  a  Homeric  cloud  ;  the  fray  ceased  ; 
Goldsmith  and  his  friend  withdrew  ;  and  ultimately  an 
action  for  assault  was  compromised  by  Goldsmith's  pay- 
ing fifty  pounds  to  a  charity.  Then  the  howl  of  the 
journals  arose.  Their  prerogative  had  been  assailed. 
"  Attacks  upon  private  character  were  the  most  liberal  ex- 
isting source  of  newspaper  income,"  Mr.  Forster  writes  ; 


xvi.]  SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER.  141 

and  so  the  pack  turned  with  one  cry  on  the  unlucky  poet. 
There  was  nothing  of  "  the  Monument "  about  poor 
Goldsmith  ;  and  at  last  he  was  worried  into  writing  a 
letter  of  defence  addressed  to  the  public.  "  He  has  in- 
deed done  it  very  well,"  said  Johnson  to  Boswell,  "  but 
it  is  a  foolish  thing  well  done. ' '  And  further  he  re- 
marked, "  Why,  sir.  I  believe  it  is  the  first  time  he  has 
beat ;  he  may  have  been  beaten  before  This,  sir,  is  a 
new  plume  to  him." 


CHAPTFR  XVII. 

INCREASING    DIFFICULTIES. THE    END. 

The  pecuniary  success  of  She  Stoops  to  Conquer  did  but 
little  to  relieve  Goldsmith  from  those  financial  embarrass- 
ments which  were  now  weighing  heavily  on  his  mind. 
And  now  he  had  less  of  the  old  high  spirits  that  had  en- 
abled him  to  laugh  off  the  cares  of  debt.  His  health  be- 
came disordered  ;  an  old  disease  renewed  its  attacks,  and 
was  grown  more  violent  because  of  his  long-continued 
sedentary  habits.  Indeed,  from  this  point  to  the  day  of 
his  death — not  a  long  interval,  either — we  find  little  but 
a  record  of  successive  endeavors,  some  of  them  wild  and 
hopeless  enough,  to  obtain  money  anyhow.  Of  course 
he  went  to  the  Club,  as  usual  ;  and  gave  dinner-parties  ; 
and  had  a  laugh  or  a  song  ready  for  the  occasion.  It  is 
possible,  also,  to  trace  a  certain  growth  of  confidence  in 
himself,  no  doubt  the  result  of  the  repeated  proofs  of  his 
genius  he  had  put  before  his  friends.  It  was  something 
more  than  mere  personal  intimacy  that  justified  the  re- 
buke he  administered  to  Reynolds,  when  the  latter 
painted  an  allegorical  picture  representing  the  triumph  of 
Bcattie  and  Truth  over  Voltaire  and  Scepticism.  "  It 
very  ill  becomes  a  man  of  your  eminence  and  character," 
he  said,  "  to  debaso  so  high  a  genius  as  Voltaire  before 


xvii.]     INCREASING  DIFFICULTIES.— THE  END.        143 

so  mean  a  writer  as  Beattie.  Beattie  and  his  book  will 
be  forgotten  in  ten  years,  while  Voltaire's  fame  will  last 
forever.  Take  care  it  does  not  perpetuate  this  picture, 
to  the  shame  of  such  a  man  as  you."  He  was  aware, 
too,  of  the  position  he  had  won  for  himself  in  English 
literature.  He  knew  that  people  in  after-days  would  ask 
about  him  ;  and  it  was  with  no  sort  of  unwarrantable 
vainglory  that  he  gave  Percy  certain  materials  for  a  biog- 
raphy which  he  wished  him  to  undertake.  Hence  the 
Percy  Memoir. 

He  was  only  forty-five  when  he  made  this  request ; 
and  he  had  not  suffered  much  from  illness  during  his 
life  ;  so  that  there  was  apparently  no  grounds  for  imagin- 
ing that  the  end  was  near.  But  at  this  time  Goldsmith 
began  to  suffer  severe  fits  of  depression  ;  and  he  grew 
irritable  and  capricious  of  temper — no  doubt  another  re- 
sult of  failing  health.  He  was  embroiled  in  disputes 
with  the  booksellers  ;  and,  on  one  occasion,  seems  to 
have  been  much  hurt  because  Johnson,  who  had  been 
asked  to  step  in  as  arbiter,  decided  against  him.  He  was 
offended  with  Johnson  on  another  occasion  because  of  his 
sending  away  certain  dishes  at  a  dinner  given  to  him  by 
Goldsmith,  as  a  hint  that  these  entertainments  were  too 
luxurious  for  one  in  Goldsmith's  position.  It  was  prob- 
ably owing  to  some  temporary  feeling  of  this  sort — per- 
haps to  some  expression  of  it  on  Goldsmith  \  part — that 
Johnson  spoke  of  Goldsmith's  "  malice"  towards  him. 
Mrs.  Thrale  had  suggested  that  Goldsmith  would  be  the 
best  person  to  write  Johnson's  biography.  "  The  dog 
would  write  it  best,  to  be  sure,"  said  Johnson,  "  but  his 
particular  malice  towards  me,  and  general  disregard  of 
truth,  would  make  the  book  useless  to  all  and  injurious 
to  my  character. ' '     Of  course  it  is  always  impossible  to 


]  1 1  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

say  what  measure  of  jocular  exaggeration  there  may  not 
be  in  a  chance  phrase  such  as  this  :  of  the  fact  that  there 
was  no  serious  or  permanent  quarrel  between  the  two 
friends  we  have  abundant  proof  in  Boswell's  faithful 
pages. 

To  return  to  the  various  endeavors  made  by  Goldsmith 
and  his  friends  to  meet  the  difficulties  now  closing  in 
around  him,  we  find,  first  of  all,  the  familiar  hack-work. 
For  two  volumes  of  a  History  of  Greece  he  had  received 
from  Griffin  £250.  Then  his  friends  tried  to  get  him  a 
pension  from  the  Government ;  but  this  was  definitely 
refused.  An  expedient  of  his  own  seemed  to  promise 
well  at  first.  He  thought  of  bringing  out  a  Popular 
Dictionary  of  Arts  and  Sciences,  a  series  of  contribu- 
tions mostly  by  his  friends,  with  himself  as  editor  ;  and 
among  those  who  offered  to  assist  him  were  Johnson, 
Reynolds,  Burke,  and  Dr.  Burney.  But  the  booksellers 
were  afraid.  The  project  would  involve  a  large  expense  ; 
and  they  had  no  high  opinion  of  Goldsmith's  business 
habits.  Then  he  offered  to  alter  The  Good-natured 
Man  for  Garrick  ;  but  Garrick  preferred  to  treat  with 
him  for  a  new  comedy,  and  generously  allowed  him  to 
draw  on  him  for  the  money  in  advance.  This  last  help 
enabled  him  to  go  to  Barton  for  a  brief  holiday  ;  but  the 
relief  was  only  temporary.  On  his  return  to  London 
even  his  nearest  friends  began  to  observe  the  change  in 
his  manner.  In  the  old  days  Goldsmith  had  faced 
pecuniary  difficulties  with  a  light  heart  ;  but  now,  his 
health  broken,  and  every  avenue  of  escape  apparently 
closed,  he  was  giving  way  to  despair.  His  friend  Cra- 
dock,  coming  up  to  town,  found  Goldsmith  in  a  most  de- 
spondent condition  ;  and  also  hints  that  the  unhappy 
author  was  trying  to  conceal  the  true  state  of  affairs.     ' '  I 


xvii.l     INCREASING  DIFFICULTIES.— THE  END.        145 

believe,"  says  Cradock,  "  he  died  miserable,  and  that  his 
friends  were  not  entirely  aware  of  his  distress." 

And  yet  it  was  during  this  closing  period  of  anxiety, 
despondency,  and  gloomy  foreboding  tbat  the  brilliant 
and  humorous  lines  of  Retaliation  were  written — that  last 
scintillation  of  the  bright  and  happy  genius  that  was  soon 
to  be  extinguished  forever.  The  most  varied  accounts 
have  been  given  of  the  origin  of  this  jeu  d' esprit ;  and 
even  Garrick's,  which  was  meant  to  supersede  and  correct 
all  others,  is  self-contradictory.  For  according  to  this 
version  of  the  story,  which  was  found  among  the  Garrick 
papers,  and  which  is  printed  in  Mr.  Cunningham's  edi- 
tion of  Goldsmith's  works,  the  whole  thing  arose  out 
of  Goldsmith  and  Garrick  resolving  one  evening  at  the 
St.  James's  Coffee-House  to  write  each  other's  epitaph. 
Garrick's  well-known  couplet  was  instantly  produced  : 

"  Here  lies  Nolly  Goldsmith,  for  shortness  called  Noll, 
Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  but  talked  like  poor  Poll." 

Goldsmith,  according  to  Garrick,  either  would  not  or 
could  not  retort  at  the  moment ;  "  but  went  to  work, 
and  some  weeks  after  produced  the  following  printed 
poem,  called  Retaliation."  But  Garrick  himself  goes  on 
to  say,  ' '  The  following  poems  in  manuscript  were  written 
by  several  of  the  gentlemen  on  purpose  to  provoke  the 
Doctor  to  an  answer,  which  came  forth  at  last  with  great 
credit  to  him  in  Retaliation."  The  most  probable  version 
of  the  story,  which  may  be  pieced  together  from  various 
sources,  is  that  at  the  coffee-house  named  this  business  of 
writing  comic  epitaphs  was  started  some  evening  or  other 
by  the  whole  company  ;  that  Goldsmith  and  Garrick 
pitted  themselves  against  each  other  ;  that  thereafter 
Goldsmith  began  as  occasion  served  to  write  similar 
7* 


146  GOLDSMITH.  [chap. 

squibs  about  his  friends,  which  were  shown  about  as  they 
were  written  ;  that  thereupon  those  gentlemen,  not  to  be 
behindhand,  composed  more  elaborate  pieces  in  proof  of 
their  wit  ;  and  that,  finally,  Goldsmith  resolved  to  bind 
these  fugitive  lines  of  his  together  in  a  poem,  which  he 
left  unfinished,  and  which,  under  the  name  of  Retalia- 
tion, was  published  after  his  death.  This  hypothetical 
account  receives  some  confirmation  from  the  fact  that  the 
scheme  of  the  poem  and  its  component  parts  do  not  fit 
together  well  ;  the  introduction  looks  like  an  after- 
thought, and  has  not  the  freedom  and  pungency  of  a 
piece  of  improvisation.  An  imaginary  dinner  is  de- 
scribed, the  guests  being  Garrick,  Reynolds,  Burke, 
Cumberland,  and  the  rest  of  them,  Goldsmith  last  of  all. 
More  wine  is  called  for,  until  the  whole  of  his  com- 
panions have  fallen  beneath  the  table  : 

'  Then,  with  chaos  and  blunders  encircling  my  head, 
Let  me  ponder,  and  tell  what  I  think  of  the  dead." 

This  is  a  somewhat  clumsy  excuse  for  introducing  a 
series  of  epitaphs  ;  but  the  epitaphs  amply  atone  for  it. 
That  on  Garrick  is  especially  remarkable  as  a  bit  of  char- 
acter-sketching ;  its  shrewd  hints — all  in  perfect  courtesy 
and  good-humor — going  a  little  nearer  to  the  truth  than 
is  common  in  epitaphs  of  any  sort  : 

'  Here  lies  David  Garrick,  describe  me  who  can  ; 
An  abridgment  of  all  that  was  pleasant  in  man. 
As  an  actor,  confessed  without  rival  to  shine  : 
As  a  wit,  if  not  first,  in  the  very  first  line  : 
Yet,  with  talents  like  these,  and  an  excellent  heart, 
The  man  had  his  failings,  a  dupe  to  his  art. 
Like  an  ill-judging  beauty,  his  colors  he  spread, 
And  beplastered  with  rouge  his  own  natural  red. 
On  the  stage  he  was  natural,  simple,  affecting  ; 
'Twas  only  that,  when  he  was  off,  he  was  acting. 


xvii.]     INCREASING  DIFFICULTIES.- THE  END.        147 

With  no  reason  on  earth  to  go  out  of  his  way, 

He  turned  and  he  varied  full  ten  times  a  day  : 

Though  secure  of  our  hearts,  yet  confoundedly  sick 

If  they  were  not  his  own  by  finessing  and  trick  ; 

He  cast  off  his  friends,  as  a  huntsman  his  pack, 

For  he  knew  when  he  pleased  he  could  whistle  them  back. 

Of  praise  a  mere  glutton,  he  swallowed  what  came  ; 

And  the  puff  of  a  dunce,  he  mistook  it  for  fame  ; 

Till  his  relish  grown  callous,  almost  to  disease, 

Who  peppered  the  highest  was  surest  to  please. 

But  let  us  be  candid,  and  speak  out  our  mind  : 

If  dunces  applauded,  he  paid  them  in  kind. 

Ye  Kenricks,  ye  Kellys,  and  Woodfalls  so  grave, 

What  a  commerce  was  yours,  while  you  got  and  you  gave  ! 

How  did  Grub  Street  re-echo  the  shouts  that  you  raised, 

While  he  was  be-Rosciused,  and  you  were  bepraised. 

But  peace  to  his  spirit,  wherever  it  flies, 

To  act  as  an  angel  and  mix  with  the  skies  : 

Those  poets  who  owe  their  best  fame  to  his  skill 

Shall  still  be  his  flatterers,  go  where  he  will  ; 

Old  Shakespeare  receive  him  with  praise  and  with  love, 

And  Beaumonts  and  Bens  be  his  Kellys  above." 

The  truth  is  that  Goldsmith,  though  he  was  ready  to  bless 
his  "  honest  little  man"  when  he  received  from  him  sixty 
pounds  in  advance  for  a  comedy  not  begun,  never  took 
quite  so  kindly  to  Garrick  as  to  some  of  his  other 
friends.  There  is  no  pretence  of  discrimination  at  all, 
for  example,  in  the  lines  devoted  in  this  poem  to  Rey- 
nolds. All  the  generous  enthusiasm  of  Goldsmith's  Irish 
nature  appears  here  ;  he  will  admit  of  no  possible  rival  to 
this  especial  friend  of  his  : 

"  Here  Reynolds  is  laid,  and  to  tell  you  my  mind, 
He  has  not  left  a  wiser  or  better  behind. " 

There  is  a  tradition  that  the  epitaph  on  Reynolds,  end- 
ing with  the  unfinished  line 

"  By  flattery  unspoiled    .  " 


118  GOLDSMITH.  [chai\ 

was  Goldsmith's  last  piece  of  writing.     One  would  like 
to  believe  that,  in  any  case. 

Goldsmith  had  returned  to  his  Edgware  lodgings,  and 
liad,  indeed,  formed  some  notion  of  selling  his  chambers 
in  the  Temple,  and  living  in  the  country  for  at  least  ten 
months  in  the  year,  when  a  sudden  attack  of  his  old  dis- 
order drove  him  into  town  again  for  medical  advice.  He 
would  appear  to  have  received  some  relief  ;  but  a  nervous 
fever  followed  ;  and  on  the  night  of  the  25th  March, 
1774,  when  he  was  but  forty-six  years  of  age,  he  took 
to  his  bed  for  the  last  time.  At  first  he  refused  to  re- 
gard his  illness  as  serious,  and  insisted  on  dosing  him- 
self with  certain  fever-powders  from  which  he  had  re- 
ceived benefit  on  previous  occasions  ;  but  by  and  by  as 
his  strength  gave  way  he  submitted  to  the  advice  of  the 
physicians  who  were  in  attendance  on  him.  Day  after 
day  passed,  his  weakness  visibly  increasing,  though, 
curiously  enough,  the  symptoms  of  fever  were  gradually 
abating.  At  length  one  of  the  doctors,  remarking  to 
him  that  his  pulse  was  in  greater  disorder  than  it  should 
be  from  the  degree  of  fever,  asked  him  if  his  mind  was 
at  ease.  "  No,  it  is  not,"  answered  Goldsmith  ;  and 
these  were  his  last  words.  Early  in  the  morning  of 
Monday,  April  4th,  convulsions  set  in  ;  these  continued 
for  rather  more  than  an  hour  ;  then  the  troubled  brain 
and  the  sick  heart  found  rest  forever. 

When  the  news  was  carried  to  his  friends,  Burke,  it  is 
said,  burst  into  tears,  and  Reynolds  put  aside  his  work 
for  the  day.  But  it  does  not  appear  that  they  had  vis- 
ited him  during  his  illness  ;  and  neither  Johnson,  nor 
Reynolds,  nor  Burke,  nor  Garrick  followed  his  body  to 
the  grave.  It  is  true,  a  public  funeral  was  talked  of  ; 
and,  among  others,  Reynolds,  Burke,  and  Garrick  were 


xvii.]      INCREASING  DIFFICULTIES.— THE  END.        149 

to  have  carried  the  pall  ;  but  this  was  abandoned  ;  and 
Goldsmith  was  privately  buried  in  the  ground  of  the 
Temple  Church  on  the  9th  of  April,  1114.  Strangely 
enough,  too,  Johnson  seems  to  have  omitted  all  mention 
of  Goldsmith  from  his  letters  to  Boswell.  It  was  not 
until  Boswell  had  written  to  him,  on  June  24th,  "  You 
have  said  nothing  to  me  about  poor  Goldsmith,"  that 
Johnson,  writing  on  July  4th,  answered  as  follows  : 
"  Of  poor  dear  Dr.  Goldsmith  there  is  little  to  be  told, 
more  than  the  papers  have  made  public.  He  died  of  a 
fever,  made,  I  am  afraid,  more  violent  by  uneasiness  of 
mind.  His  debts  began  to  be  heavy,  and  all  his  re- 
sources were  exhausted.  Sir  Joshua  is  of  opinion  that 
he  owed  not  less  than  two  thousand  pounds.  Was  ever 
poet  so  trusted  before  ?" 

But  if  the  greatest  grief  at  the  sudden  and  premature 
death  of  Goldsmith  would  seem  to  have  been  shown  at 
the  moment  by  certain  wretched  creatures  who  were 
found  weeping  on  the  stairs  leading  to  his  chambers,  it 
must  not  be  supposed  that  his  fine  friends  either  forgot 
him,  or  ceased  to  regard  his  memory  with  a  great  gen- 
tleness and  kindness.  Some  two  years  after,  when  a 
monument  was  about  to  be  erected  to  Goldsmith  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  Johnson  consented  to  write  ' '  the 
poor  dear  Doctor's  epitaph  ;"  and  so  anxious  were  the 
members  of  that  famous  circle  in  which  Goldsmith  had 
figured,  that  a  just  tribute  should  be  paid  to  his  genius, 
that  they  even  ventured  to  send  a  round-robin  to  the 
great  Cham  desiring  him  to  amend  his  first  draft.  Now, 
perhaps,  we  have  less  interest  in  Johnson's  estimate  of 
Goldsmith's  genius — though  it  contains  the  famous 
Nullum  quod  tetigit  non  ornavit — than  in  the  phrases 
which  tell  of  the  honor  paid  to  the  memory  of  the  dead 


l^(f* 


150  '^HOpi-TlI.  [cum'. 

poet  by  the  love  of  his  companions  and  the  faithfulness 
of  his  friends.  It  may  here  be  added  that  the  precise 
spot  where  Goldsmith  was  buried  in  the  Temple  church- 
yard is  unknown.  So  lived  and  so  died  Oliver  Gold- 
smith. 


In  the  foregoing  pages  the  writings  of  Goldsmith  have 
been  given  so  prominent  a  place  in  the  history  of  his  life 
that  it  is  unnecessary  to  take  them  here  collectively  and 
endeavor  to  sum  up  their  distinctive  qualities.  As  much 
as  could  be  said  within  the  limited  space  has,  it  is  hoped, 
been  said  about  their  genuine  and  tender  pathos,  that 
never  at  any  time  verges  on  the  affected  or  theatrical  ; 
about  their  quaint,  delicate,  delightful  humor  ;  about  that 
broader  humor  that  is  not  afraid  to  provoke  the  whole- 
some laughter  of  mankind  by  dealing  with  common  and 
familiar  ways,  and  manners  and  men  ;  about  that  choice- 
ness  of  diction,  that  lightness  and  grace  of  touch,  that 
lend  a  charm  even  to  Goldsmith's  ordinary  hack-work. 

Still  less  necessary,  perhaps,  is  it  to  review  the 
facts  and  circumstances  of  Goldsmith's  life,  and  to 
make  of  them  an  example,  a  warning,  or  an  accusation. 
That  has  too  often  been  done.  His  name  has  been  used 
to  glorify  a  sham  Bohemianism — a  Bohemianism  that 
finds  it  easy  to  live  in  taverns,  but  does  not  find  it  easy, 
so  far  as  one  sees,  to  write  poems  like  the  Deserted  Vil- 
lage. His  experiences  as  an  author  have  been  brought 
forward  to  swell  the  cry  about  neglected  genius — that  is, 
by  writers  who  assume  their  genius  in  order  to  prove  the 
neglect.  The  misery  that  occasionally  befell  him  during 
his  wayward  career  has  been   made  the  basis  of  an  accu- 


xvn.]     INCRESAING  DIFFICULTIES.— THE  END.         151 

sation  against  society,  the  English  constitution,  Chris- 
tianity— Heaven  knows  what.  It  is  time  to  have  done 
with  all  this  nonsense.  Goldsmith  resorted  to  the  hack- 
work of  literature  when  every  thing  else  had  failed  him  ; 
and  he  was  fairly  paid  for  it.  When  he  did  better  work, 
when  he  "  struck  for  honest  fame,"  the  nation  gave  him 
all  the  honor  that  he  could  have  desired.  With  an  as- 
sured reputation,  and  with  ample  means  of  subsistence, 
he  obtained  entrance  into  the  most  distinguished  society 
then  in  England — he  was  made  the  friend  of  England's 
greatest  in  the  arts  and  literature — and  could  have  con- 
fined himself  to  that  society  exclusively  if  he  had  chosen. 
His  temperament,  no  douDt,  exposed  him  to  suffering  ; 
and  the  exquisite  sensitiveness  of  a  man  of  genius  may 
demand  our  sympathy  ;  but  in  far  greater  measure  is  our 
sympathy  demanded  for  the  thousands  upon  thousands  of 
people  who,  from  illness  or  nervous  excitability,  suffer 
from  quite  as  keen  a  sensitiveness  without  the  consolation 
of  the  fame  that  genius  brings. 

In  plain  truth,  Goldsmith  himself  would  have  been  the 
last  to  put  forward  pleas  humiliating  alike  to  himself  and 
to  his  calling.  Instead  of  beseeching  the  State  to  look 
after  authors  ;  instead  of  imploring  society  to  grant 
them  "  recognition  ;"  instead  of  saying  of  himself  "  he 
wrote,  and  paid  the  penalty  ;"  he  would  frankly  have 
admitted  that  he  chose  to  live  his  life  his  own  way,  and 
therefore  paid  the  penalty.  This  is  not  written  with  any 
desire  of  upbraiding  Goldsmith.  He  did  choose  to  live 
his  own  life  his  own  way,  and  we  now  have  the  splendid 
and  beautiful  results  of  his  work  ;  and  the  world — look- 
ing at  these  with  a  constant  admiration,  and  with  a  great 
and  lenient  love  for  their  author — is  not  anxious  to  know 
what  he  did  with  his  guineas,  or  whether  the  milkmao 


IC2  GOLDSMITH.  [chap,  xvn 

was  ever  paid.  "  He  had  raised  money  and  squandered 
it,  by  every  artifice  of  acquisition  and  folly  of  expense. 
But  let  not  his  frailties  be  remembered  :  he  was  a 
verv  great  man."  This  is  Johnson's  wise  summing 
up  ;  and  with  it  we  may  here  take  leave  of  geutle  Gold- 
smith. 


THE    END. 


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